Chuck vs the Island Getaway
by atlee
Summary: Right after "The Suburbs" Chuck and Sarah find out they must go undercover again, this time on a mysterious and deadly new mission on an island resort. And Casey is otherwise occupied. Last two chapters up!
1. Chapter 1

_This story takes place right after "Chuck vs. the Suburbs"_

_And to set the record straight: I do not own Chuck. I know everybody says that, but I mean it. Some of these other folks, I'll bet they secretly do own Chuck._ _But not me._

**Chuck vs. the Island Getaway**

Chapter 1

"Well, now that we're all here, I guess we can start."

Chuck tried not to let the General's passive/aggressive comment bother him. He's been in the middle of trying to mollify a frustrated customer when he'd received Sarah's text message, so he couldn't sneak out of the Buy More right away. It had taken him a few minutes to understand what was wrong with the woman's DVD player, and a couple more to convince her that Lester was the perfect person to help her. He suspected he wouldn't want to be around to see the aftermath of that conversation.

He glanced over at Sarah. She was seated next to him, in her usual seat in the Castle basement. Her eyes were glued to the screen, and she made no indication that she'd even noticed Chuck's presence. Chuck sighed inwardly. Things had been awkward since their last mission. As easy as going undercover in suburbia sounded, it had turned out to have its share of difficulties in a number of ways. Especially since they'd had to pose as a married couple. While Chuck had really enjoyed his time there with Sarah, it had been clear at the end that she hadn't felt the same way. Afterwards, there had been an awkardness between them, and it didn't look like this was going to change any time soon.

"Sorry, General. Just my Buy More duties. Won't happen again."

Hearing the characteristic grunt, Chuck turned to the other person in the room. Casey's arms were folded over his green shirt, with his face frozen in its customary scowl. He saw the older man's lips move briefly, mouthing what appeared to be "Moron."

"Ok then. Let's get started." Beckman glanced at the three of them through the screen. "We have recently learned that a flash drive containing launch codes for a variety of missiles and other high-grade weapons has been stolen. We believe they are currently in the possession of this man." The screen shifted, and the picture of a distinguished middle-aged man appeared. Chuck immediately felt the rush in the back of his head.

"That's Klaus Strassburg, a German entrepreneur. Suspected of funneling money to various terrorist organizations."

"That is correct, Mr. Bartowski. Our intel is suggesting that Mr. Strassburg plans to sell this flash drive to an unknown member of Fulcrum sometime in the near future. Strassburg has a vacation scheduled for the coming week. He will be staying in Martinada Island, off the coast of California. He is booked for a week at the Grand Royale Hotel."

"Agent Walker, you and the intersect will go there under cover as husband and wife. Agent Casey, you will also be vacationing there as a recently divorced attorney."

Chuck sat there for a moment, mulling over the new assignment. Normally, the idea of going to a resort under cover with Sarah would have been the best news imaginable. However, the recent strain in their relationship was making it a bit less appealing. Still, maybe he could find out what was bothering her.

"General," Casey spoke up. "Before I can go on this mission, there's one slight issue I was hoping you'd be able to take care of."

"Oh?" General Beckman's eyebrow raised. Clearly, she wasn't used to Casey requesting favors.

"Well, see, I got a note in the mail. Apparently, John Casey has been called in for jury duty."

"Wait, John Casey doesn't technically exist. How can he be called for jury duty?" Chuck was confused.

"A lot of work is spent putting together cover identities, Chuck," Sarah explained. "Every detail must be covered, including all necessary government records. So it's actually quite possible."

"But a big problem. So, General, can you go through whatever channels to take care of this?"

The General pursed her lips in thought for a while. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Agent Casey," she said finally. "We don't want to rouse suspicion by compromising your cover. If the NSA were to pull favors to get a computer salesman out of jury duty, questions could be asked. No, Agent Casey, you'll have to show up for Jury Duty. However, I trust you can get out of it as quickly as possible, and joint Agent Walker and the Intersect on the mission." The General's image disappeared from the screen.

"Great, how am I supposed to get out of this?" Casey growled.

"Aw, c'mon Casey. Any idiot can get out of jury duty. Just be your charming self, and they'll be bound to drop you."

"How about I drop you from the roof of this building. Would you find that charming?"

"Alright enough," Sarah interrupted. "Casey, do whatever you need to. Chuck and I will get our cover worked out for this trip."

* * *

Two days later, Chuck found himself on a boat heading towards Martinada Island. The time after the briefing with Beckman had been very busy. While convincing Big Mike that he could be spared from the Buy More for a week was no problem, convincing Morgan was. Finally, after a night-long negotiation/gaming session, Morgan gave his reluctant permission.

Ellie and Awesome were thrilled when he told them about the vacation, though less than impressed with the idea of them going to Reno. Chuck couldn't blame them, as it didn't exactly sound like the ideal romantic getaway. Still, Sarah had told them that he couldn't tell them they were headed to a ritzy resort island without bringing up a lot of questions. Once he'd worked his way through Ellie's "Where is your relationship going?" look, Chuck was home free.

* * *

Much to Chuck's dismay, the two-hour car trip to San Diego was an all-business affair. They spent their time discussing the background information on the case, and reviewing any and all necessary details about their cover identities. Whenever Chuck tried to draw Sarah into a more personal conversation, he got a brief smile and a "Chuck, we need to be ready for the mission" in return.

Chuck couldn't help but feel that knowing the name of Mrs. Carmichael's date to the Senior Prom wasn't going to make their cover any more believable. Especially when they must appear as distant as he could sense. The awkwardness that had started when he had asked her about staying the extra night at their "house" had yet to evaporate, and he wasn't sure he'd fully buried the frustration he felt about it. He knew that Sarah was fully ready to play the loving wife, but he wasn't sure he could handle knowing that she was just acting.

Once they had reached San Diego, Sarah veered off the highway and they drove down to the port. They reached the marina about fifteen minutes early for the ferry that would take them to Martinada Island. Sarah turned the Porsche into a nearby garage and they jumped out.

"Can we leave this for a week? Aren't you worried somebody will steal it?" Chuck asked as he grabbed the suitcase from the trunk.

"If they do, they might have more trouble than expected. There are a few safeguards built in that they may not be ready for." Chuck nodded, and decided that he would never ask to borrow the Porsche.

They headed out of the garage and walked toward the pier. Chuck's case was heavier than expected, which wasn't too surprising since he hadn't actually packed it. The previous night Sarah had informed him that since Charles Carmichael and Chuck Bartowski had little in common when it came to wardrobes, appropriate clothing would be provided. Chuck hadn't been offended by the statement, but found himself wondering how many of Carmichael's outfits were made of lead. Sarah seemed to show no discomfort in carrying her case, of course.

They reached the pier to find that the ferry hadn't yet arrived. Sighing in relief, Chuck put down the case and looked around. The only other person there was a young woman. She was about thirty years old, wearing a white blouse and denim skirt. She turned towards him briefly, and Chuck smiled politely at her. The woman smiled back, brushing a strand of her dark hair out of her face.

Chuck turned to see Sarah looking at him, her face unreadable. "So?" she asked.

"So what?"

"Did you flash on her?"

"Oh, no. Completely quiet up there."

Sarah nodded, and they waited silently for a couple more minutes. Finally, they saw the ferry approaching, though it wasn't what Chuck would call a ferry. This was more of a yacht. Or possibly a catamaran. Chuck wasn't clear on the distinction. He decided that until a better word was suggested, yachtamaran would have to do.

Once the yachtamaran was tied to the pier, a porter came down and took their bags. As Chuck climbed aboard, he decided he was going to get into character. He gave the surroundings a once-over, dismissing it with the shrug he felt that a wealthy software developer would give. Yachtamarans were no new thing to Charles Carmichael. He held out his hand to Sarah, and helped her aboard. As she climbed up, she smiled at him. While a Sarah Carmichael smile had nothing on the Sarah Walker special, it was still a warmer look that he'd seen in the last couple of days.

They sat down, and soon the boat was on its way. The porter came around, and offered some reading material. Chuck took the Wall Street Journal, figuring that was Carmichael's paper of choice. A few minutes later, he decided that Charles Carmichael had dull taste.

Putting the paper aside, he turned to Sarah. "So, are we going to make it?"

"Hmm?" Sarah turned to him. "Don't worry, you know I won't let anything happen to you."

"Oh, I didn't mean that. I just meant a whole week without Casey? How are we going to last that long entirely grunt-free?"

Sarah chuckled. "You mean you don't trust him to get out of jury duty?"

"Well, he won't be able to use his usual methods of 'persuasion' so he might be at a bit of a loss."

"I'm sure he'll think of something. Still, next time we'll have to be more prepared. Maybe we can have him make a recording of some of his best Casey grunts beforehand for us to carry along. You can put it on your iPod."

"'Casey's Greatest Hits.' Sounds lovely. So do you think we can wrap things up quickly, so we can appreciate how the other half lives?"

Sarah shook her head. "I know this might seem like a vacation, but we are on duty. We have to treat it that way, and not let our guards down."

Chuck sighed. He certainly trusted that Sarah would be able to do that. He looked around for a moment. The woman from the pier was looking out at the other end of the boat, craning her neck to look out over the distance. Following her gaze, he could see the island quickly approaching. The mission was about to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

_According to a recent poll, four out of five dentists say that I don't own Chuck. And I wouldn't believe the fifth. He just likes to mess with people._

Chapter 2

"Life does not suck for the Carmichaels."

This passed through Chuck's head as he stepped off the yachtamaran and examined his surroundings. The pier led them past sandy, white beaches and up to an ornate, two-story building. Arches surrounded the white walls of the hotel, and above each he could see a balcony connected to what were apparently the guest rooms. "How much is this costing the NSA?" he whispered to Sarah.

"Your tax dollars at work."

They followed the porter into the hotel, and found themselves in front of a modest sized lobby. The porter nodded, and returned to retrieve their bags. Chuck and Sarah stood by a small fountain, and watched the koi swim back and forth. Remembering that they had to get 'in character,' Chuck grabbed Sarah's hand.

"You two are spies."

The statement caused Chuck to whirl around in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarah reach back for her holster.

The face studying them caused Chuck to relax. The girl looked to be about ten or so, with her reddish-brown hair tied into a ponytail. She wore a t-shirt, white shorts, and sandals. Her freckled face looked up at them with a mildly amused expression.

"What makes you say that?" Chuck asked, somewhat uneasily.

The girl shrugged. "Wishful thinking. Nothing exciting ever happens here, so I figured you could be secret government spies." After a pause, "You aren't spies, are you?"

"No." Chuck flashed a quick smile. "Do I look like a spy?"

"Eh, not really." The girl glanced at Sarah. "She kinda does, though."

Chuck put a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Believe me, my wife is no spy."

"Ok. I guess I'll just have to pin my hopes on that guy." The girl pointed at a man walking through the atrium. Chuck's eyes narrowed as he recognized Strassburg, and he felt Sarah's grip tighten in his hand. "I think he's in Witness Protection. On the run from the mob."

"I don't know," Chuck responded. "I'm thinking he's more of a time traveler from the future. Here to steal all of the natural resources on your island."

"You're making fun of me," the girl pouted. "That's not nice. But you can still be spies for me, though, right? Or jewel thieves, or…"

"Emily!"

They turned to see a middle-aged man hurry over towards them. A few beads of sweat on his face betrayed his otherwise immaculate appearance. His deep-set eyes were glaring at the girl. "What have I told you about disturbing the guests?"

"I wasn't disturbing you, was I?"

"No no, she's quite charming," Sarah replied.

"Well why don't you go charm the staff for a little while, so I can welcome the Carmichaels to the Grand Royale Hotel."

The man watched the girl stomp away, and then extended a hand to Chuck. "Kyle Marston. Proud owner of this little slice of heaven. I hope your trip in was ok."

"Of course," Chuck decided to affect a slightly haughty manner, figuring that Charles Carmichael might be a bit of a snob. "Everything has been quite…adequate so far."

"Oh Charles, please. Everything has been quite excellent so far, Mr. Marston." Sarah flashed a smile at the owner. "This place is beautiful."

"Thank you, thank you, it's my pride and joy. Ah!" The porter had brought in the bags, and Marston handed him the key card.

"So have you been here before?" Chuck asked as they followed the porter down the hallway.

"No, never. I've had the chance to stay in a few places like this on past missions though."

"With Bryce, I'd bet," Chuck thought to himself.

"Usually, I haven't been so lucky, so it's nice to get one of these missions on occasion. Mostly, I get sent to more mundane places."

"You mean like Burbank?" Chuck muttered.

Before Sarah could respond, the porter stopped moving. He slid the key card into a slot inside an oak door, and motioned for them to enter. They found themselves in an airy, spacious room. Chuck could see the beach through the balcony door. A spacious bathroom with a whirlpool tub was off to the side. He coughed slightly when he realized there was only one bed in the room. He turned to see the porter looking at him expectantly. Chuck fished out a twenty from his pocket. "Here you go, my good man."

"It's good to be the Carmichaels!" Chuck said after the porter left. "Why can't all our missions be like this?"

"It's still a mission, don't forget!" Sarah said from inside the bathroom.

"Yeah, I know. So uh, the NSA's going to…"

"Reimburse your expenses? Yes, Chuck, you'll get your twenty back."

"Ok." Chuck popped open the suitcase, and leaved through the clothes. "Wow," he said to himself. He guessed that the various outfits cost about as much as his first semester at Stanford. "The government picked out all these clothes?"

"I did, actually."

"No kidding." He could see how the clothes would fit Charles Carmichael, but they definitely weren't Chuck Bartowski. They certainly weren't the traditional gear for a night of gaming with Morgan.

He wondered if Sarah would prefer if he dressed like this. He figured Bryce probably could pull these outfits off without any trouble. Chuck was sure he'd taken her to places like this on occasion. No wonder she didn't want to share in their brief suburban fantasy.

"Chuck!"

"Hmm?"

"You'd better get changed. We need to go down for dinner, and see if we can figure out what Strassburg is up to."

* * *

Chuck had never taken French. Usually, this didn't present a problem in his day-to-day life. But it made reading the Hotel Grand Royale's menu a bit of a problem. He quickly realized he'd have to fall back on Sarah.

"So, what looks good, Mrs. Carmichael?"

Sarah looked up, smiling. "Oh, they've got quite a lot here. I'm quite partial to the Poulet à la Normande." Seeing Chuck's confused expression, she added, "Chicken."

"Ah. Works for me." Chuck took a sip from his wine glass. The hotel's restaurant was decorated in a simple but elegant manner. The room was lit only by the bay window at the far side, and the ensconced candle at each table. The room was partially filled with diners. Chuck recognized the woman from the boat seated alone at one side. She was studying the menu intently, her leg wiggling back and forth as if she was nervous. A few tables over, a man was staring at his cell phone. His white polo shirt was barely covering a tattoo on his arm. He was also wearing sunglasses inside the restaurant, which struck Chuck as being odd.

An older woman was deep in discussion with the waiter at another table. Chuck couldn't tell what she was saying, but she seemed to feel fairly strongly about it. Occasionally, her hand would move to her graying hair, as if in concern that the indoor fan would blow it away. The waiter stood awkwardly by the table, waiting for her to finish.

Strassburg was also in the room, seated with a woman at a table at the corner. From the biographical details he'd gotten from Sarah, Chuck assumed the woman was Strassburg's wife. The woman's blue dress seemed to be fulfilling its concealment obligations through willpower and luck alone. Occasionally, she shook her head while talking, which caused her questionably authentic red hair to fall in her face. None of this seemed to impress Strassburg. His deep-set eyes were darting around the room suspiciously, and he barely seemed to notice his wife. Chuck had thought he'd seen him studying their table earlier but couldn't be sure.

"Anything triggering?"

Chuck turned to Sarah, and shook his head. "Nothing, nobody here seems to be Fulcrum."

"Well, there may be somebody coming later, or it could be somebody we don't know anything about. Keep paying attention."

They were interrupted as the waiter approached their table. "Have you made your selection?"

"Uh, I'll have the…" floundering, Chuck looked up at Sarah.

"He will have the poulet à la Normande, and I will have the saumon d'ecosse label rouge."

"Excellent." The waiter's face betrayed a slight smile. "So are you folks enjoying your stay?"

"Oh, absolutely," Sarah responded. "My husband and I were thrilled to get a reservation." She gave the waiter a conspiratorial look. "So would you mind filling us in a bit about our fellow guests? We'd love to know who we are sharing our holiday with."

The waiter glanced around a moment before quietly stating, "Well I'm really not supposed to." Then after half a second's hesitation, "But sure, why not?"

The waiter leaned in. "I'm sure you know the guy over there." He pointed to the man in the white polo. "Alex Rogers? You know, the quarterback?"

"Oh sure." Chuck said. "Devon talks about him all the time," he pointed out to Sarah. "Apparently, not all that awesome." Sarah giggled.

"Yeah, that's they guy. He's cost me quite a few dollars this year, let me tell you. Now the woman there," he pointed to the young woman that had been on the boat, "I hear is some sort of Florence Nightingale. Not the type you'd think would have a lot of cash to afford this place." The waiter was clearly warming to the subject. "But I hear she helped care for some really rich guy, right before he croaked. Left her a whole bunch of money in his will."

Chuck heard Sarah make a "Hmmph" sound.

"I don't know a whole lot about the guy over there. Seems to keep to himself, but I think he's some kind of German businessman. His wife is quite a dish, though."

"What about her?" Chuck gestured towards the older woman.

"Oh yeah," the waiter rolled his eyes. "Mrs. Armstrong. She's a handful. Been here before, with her husband. I hear she divorced him, took him for everything he was worth. Probably cheated on her, not that I could blame him." The waiter looked around. "So that's about it. I believe there are a couple of other people coming to the island later tonight. Some Japanese suits, I think. Then there will be some more people tomorrow, I think. It's kind of slow this time of year."

"Well thank you for the scoop…" Sarah paused.

"Brent."

"Thank you, Brent."

"Sure, any time. Just let me know if you wanna know anything more. And I'll be back with your dinner." The waiter winked, and walked away.

"I'm not sure our new friend Brent is buying us as a couple," Chuck commented a moment later.

"It's ok, Chuck. Just remember not to overdo it. You needn't ham it up like you did earlier."

"What, are you questioning my acting skills? I'll have you know I was the hit of my fifth grade geography pageant. They said I brought an unexpected level of gravitas to my role as 'Missouri' that brought tears to the audience's eyes."

"Oh really?"

"Well it also didn't hurt that 'Mississippi' freaked out and ran away right before me."

"Morgan?"

"How'd you guess?"

Sarah flashed one of her high-wattage non-cover smiles at Chuck, and he smiled back. He gazed at her for a bit longer than he meant to, and Sarah's eyes looked down. Chuck sighed, and grabbed the wine bottle.

"Chuck, you might want to ease off on the wine. We need to be ready for anything here, and that's not going to help."

If Brent were here now, he'd definitely believe we're a married couple, Chuck thought to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

_A guy was selling TV shows at a yard sale the other day. But he was all out of "Chuck." So I don't own it. However, I am now the proud owner of a 20-year-old toaster._

Chapter 3

True to Sarah's word, the meal was excellent. She clearly seemed to know her way around French food. Chuck silently cursed himself for trying to impress her with sizzling shrimp last year. She seemed to be enjoying herself as well, other than when she gave him a disapproving look when he took another sip of wine.

Chuck turned to examine the room. Strassburg was listening to his wife talk, a bored expression on his face. The redhead marked the end of her story with a sharp burst of laughter. Mrs. Armstrong looked up in annoyance at this, then returned to her slice of cake and leafing through her book.

Chuck noticed that Rogers had left his table, and he glanced around to see if he was still in the room. He found him standing by the table the nurse was seated at, leaning in familiarly. After a moment, the woman shook her head, and Rogers turned around and walked away.

"I think the quarterback just threw an incomplete pass."

"Huh?" Sarah looked up from her meal. "Well, he might be lucky, if what the waiter said was true. Inheriting all that money seems suspicious."

"You think she killed him? Hardly seems like the black widow type."

"I wouldn't assume anything, Chuck."

"Well she looks harmless to me."

Sarah made a surprisingly Casey-esque grunt in response. "Just remember, somebody here is a suspect, so don't take anything for granted."

"Great. I suppose that you want to lock up that little girl and interrogate her, too. Maybe you can tell her you'll kill a Jonas brother if she doesn't cooperate."

"Chuck," she hissed. "Not so loud! And what's gotten into you today? Besides most of that bottle anyway," she said, pointing to the wine.

"Hey, people drink when they're on vacation, right? I'm just working on our cover." Chuck waved his arms as he was talking. "Because this is a mission, as you keep telling me."

"Chuck, calm down!" Sarah said quietly, but firmly.

"Hey, if I'm not up to the task, Casey will be here soon enough. Or better yet, maybe we can get Bryce. I'd bet he'd make a very believable husband for you."

As he was gesturing, his arm knocked the sconce over, causing the candle to fall on the table. Immediately, the tablecloth caught on fire. "Oh God!" Chuck jumped up. Sarah had grabbed her napkin and was tamping out the flame. Chuck grabbed the water glass and poured it on the table, getting more of the water on Sarah than on the fire.

"Charles, just stand aside and let me!" Chuck noticed that some of the other guests had walked over, and were watching in a combination of horror and amusement. Finally, Brent came by and helped Sarah put the fire out.

"I'm very sorry," Chuck mumbled. "Just, uh, put it on my tab."

Sarah looked around at the people crowded about. "I think we've had enough excitement for one night, _dear_," she said through clenched teeth. "Perhaps we should go back to our room for the night."

* * *

"Sarah?"

"What is it, Chuck?" Sarah sighed, as she led him up to the hotel room.

"I'm sorry I almost set you on fire."

After a few moments, "I hoped we could stay under the radar while we're here, and just be unmemorable. I guess they get a lot of squabbling couples here, but I think our little show tonight means we're going to be memorable." She opened the door, and Chuck stumbled into the room.

"Are we squabbling?"

"You tell me. You're clearly upset about something." Sarah led him to the bed.

"It's just…it's just," Chuck sighed as he struggled with his shoe. "I know why you didn't want to stay back at our house."

"Our house?"

"Back in the suburbs. Why you didn't want to stay with me."

"Chuck," Sarah said uncertainly.

"It's ok, I get it." Chuck tossed his shoes aside, and pulled off his shirt.

"Chuck, we can talk about this later, but you should go to sleep."

"But what about you? I don't want to take the bed."

"We can worry about it later. I think you need the bed tonight." Sarah took the shirt from Chuck, and folded it neatly on the dresser.

"What about you?"

"I'm going to have a look around. See if I can figure out what Strassburg is up to. I had hoped you could help me out, but I can go it alone for tonight."

"I'm a bad spy."

"You're a bad drunk."

"Sorry." Chuck mumbled sleepily.

"It's ok, Chuck. We can talk about things later." Sarah glanced over, and saw the rhythmic movement of Chuck's chest. She pulled the covers over him, and headed out the door.

* * *

"Ow, that's bright!"

The problem with having large bay doors in your room is that it gives the sun an extra wide pathway to find you in the morning. This was an especially troubling issue for Chuck on this morning. It also provided an inconvenient go-ahead signal for the pounding in his head.

"Morning!" came a voice from the balcony.

"Sarah?"

"Who else?" She walked in to the room, looking fresh as a daisy in a light blue blouse and white capri pants.

"Did you sleep?" Chuck asked, looking at the unruffled other side of the bed.

"A few hours," Sarah motioned at a divan standing off to the side. "Not as well as you, I'm sure."

"Oh God. I'm so sorry about last night!"

"It's nothing that can't be fixed." Chuck wondered if she meant the mission or the two of them.

"Did you find anything out last night?"

"Well, luckily the security in this place is pretty light. Duplicating a key card to get into a room is pretty easy."

"You broke into Strassburg's room?"

"He was out of the room all night, so it gave me a chance to go in there and look for the flash drive. It's not there, so he either still has it on him, or he's already passed it on."

"Could he have handed it off last night?"

"It's possible, I guess. He was still sitting in the lobby when I finished the search. He could have given it to somebody, but there isn't a way off the island until the boat comes later this morning, so we still have time. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, just great. Remind me not to drink any more this weekend."

"I think that's a good idea. But why did you on the first place? It's not like you."

"I know, I know it's just…"

A knock on the door interrupted Chuck's explanation.

* * *

"Emily?"

"Morning." The girl marched into the room, her still-wet hair dripping behind her. "I figured I'd give you some time so I wasn't interrupting anything."

"Interrupting? Uh, what do you mean?" Chuck asked.

"Oh please, I'm almost twelve, and cable tv is practically my babysitter here. I think we all know what I meant."

"Well everything is safe and…age appropriate here."

"Yeah," the girl studied Chuck for a moment. "From what I hear you wouldn't have been in much shape after last night anyway."

"Uh…" Chuck really didn't know how to respond, and found himself blushing. It was like talking to a pre-teen version of Ellie.

"Emily? What are you doing here?" Sarah asked.

"Omigod! I almost forgot why I came here. Finally, something exciting has happened at this place!"

"What?" Chuck and Sarah said at the same time.

"It's the mob guy?"

"Huh?"

"You know the time-traveler here to steal all our natural resources." Looking at Chuck's blank look, "Well you should know, it was your lame joke. The German guy, staying here."

"What about him?" Sarah looked uncertainly at Chuck.

"He's dead."

_Well finally we get to the set-up. Please everybody, review away!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank you everybody for the kind words in your reviews. Sorry about not putting in Section dividers in the previous chapters; I forgot in the rush to upload I guess, so I added them in now._

_Also, to those of you that pointed out the similarities to "And Then There Were None" by Agatha Christie, that was definitely not an accident. I've actually worked in a few references to it in the story (and will probably have some more coming up). _

Also:

_"Chuck" Season 1 DVD: $25_

_"Chuck" t-shirt: $20_

_Actually owning "Chuck": Priceless_

_Thus explaining why I don't own "Chuck"  
_

Chapter 4

Chuck and Sarah followed Emily down the hallway and into the lobby, where they found a small crowd of guests standing around. Mrs. Strassburg was seated in a corner wiping the dripping mascara off of her face, being Emily's father awkwardly tried to comfort her. Chuck recognized the nurse, Mrs. Armstrong, and Alex Rogers standing by a set of chairs watching the activity. Looking past them, he saw two men leaning over Strassburg's body.

Strassburg was seated in one of the chairs, hunched over awkwardly. One of the two men was carefully examining Strassburg's body. The other, dressed in a uniform was watching closely. As Chuck and Sarah entered, he looked up.

"Ah, this would be the Carmichaels I would bet." He came up to them, but didn't offer his hand. "Officer Blore," he introduced himself. "Please step aside and wait for a bit. I'm sure I'll want to talk to you later." He gave Chuck a speculative look. "I believe there's coffee at the table over there. You may want to help yourself to some."

Chuck nodded. "So he was murdered?"

Officer Blore's eyes narrowed. "Now why would you say that?"

"Well you are the police right?" Sarah said. "That must mean that something was suspected."

"Well, we're called in for all suspicious deaths. No need to go jumping to any conclusions yet, though. Is there something you know that you should tell me?"

Sarah and Chuck both shook their heads. Blore studied them for a moment, then turned back to the body.

Chuck and Sarah headed over to the coffee table. "It can't just be coincidence, right?" Chuck whispered after taking a sip. "It must have been whoever wanted the flash drive, right?"

"Well, it seems like the most likely explanation. Still, he's right. We can't jump to any conclusions yet."

Chuck looked around the room, wondering if any of the people there had the flash drive. As he did this, he noticed two people he hadn't seen before. There were two Asian men talking quietly with each other in conservative gray suits standing by the fountain. "Who are they?" he asked Sarah.

"They came in last night." They turned to see Emily standing behind them. "Some Japanese businessmen. The older one doesn't even speak English!"

"They're the only new arrivals?" Sarah asked.

"Yup! Isn't this awesome? It's like we're in some mystery novel. I've never even seen a dead body before. Do you think they'll let me touch it?"

"I don't think…"

"Oh drat!" Emily said before Chuck could finish. "My dad is waving to me. He probably thinks you guys are the killers, and I'll be your next victim!" She stalked off to where her father stood.

* * *

Chuck turned back to Sarah, but she had moved away from the table. His eyes sought her out, finally seeing her wandering about, examining the lobby decorations. It took him a moment to realize that the decorations that seemed to fascinate her were all located near where the other guests were standing and talking to each other.

Deciding to try the same thing, Chuck took his cup of coffee and headed around the room. He focused his eyes on a painting on the wall, while trying to inch closer to Marston and Mrs. Strassburg. In doing so, he didn't see somebody move in front of him.

"Ooh!" Chuck said as he narrowly avoided dropping the coffee. A drop landed about an inch away from where the woman was standing.

"I'm, uh, so sorry. I am just dangerous with beverages these days."

"Oh that's ok. At least you didn't set me on fire." The woman's smile was warm, so Chuck sighed in relief. She sure didn't seem like the scheming murderess the waiter had described last night.

"I guess everybody's a bit jumpy." Chuck put down the coffee. "Carmichael, Charles Carmichael."

"The woman raised an eyebrow. "So you fancy yourself a James Bond then, Carmichael Charles Carmichael?"

"What me, a spy? Hardly." Chuck held out his hand, and the woman shook it.

"I'm Lombard, Nancy Lombard. Hmm, that doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?" She motioned to the scene around them. "What do you think about all of this?"

"Oh, it's terrible. He seemed ok last night."

"Well, he didn't look particularly healthy, so it must have been his heart. I'm a nurse," she added in explanation.

"Did you ever talk to him?"

"No. I've barely spoken to anybody here, other than that guy." She pointed at Rogers, who was playing with his phone.

"Ah. The quarterback."

"Is that what he is? Whatever it is, he seems quite impressed by it." She shrugged. "Other than that, everybody was pretty much here when I got here. I came in on the afternoon boat."

"Yachtamaran."

"What?"

"Yachtamaran. That's what I call it. Not sure what the technical term is, but I figure that's as good as anything."

"So you don't have a boat of your own?" When Chuck didn't reply, she added, "You look like you could afford one."

"Well, you know, mine is a little smaller."

Nancy nodded. "Is that your wife you're with?"

"Yes. That's Sarah, my wife."

"She's beautiful."

"Yes. That she is." After an awkward silence, "So, can you tell what they're doing over there?" He pointed to where the body was still being studied.

"I think that's the medical examiner leaning over. He's taking the…body's temperature to figure out the time of death." She shivered. Clearly, she was less excited by the experience than Emily.

"It is kind of awful, isn't it," Chuck commented. "To be staying in the same place as someone who died."

"Yes. It is." They stood there for a moment, watching the men shuffle around the body. "Mr. Carmichael?"

"Hmmm? Oh, call me Charles."

"Your wife is waving to you."

* * *

"So, did you learn anything?"

"Um. Well she didn't admit to killing anybody, if that's what you mean."

"Too bad."

"Huh?"

"Well, we may need a break. That body has been searched pretty thoroughly now. If that flash drive was on him, it's in the hands of the police."

"We can tell them we…you, are with the CIA. Maybe they'll cooperate."

"We can't be sure who's with Fulcrum, Chuck. Just because somebody wears a badge, it doesn't mean they're on our side."

"Oh." Chuck glanced around the room. "Did you find anything?"

"Not much. Apparently the view is nicest from the south side, the coffee is too weak, and this is the worst thing to happen to this hotel in 30 years. Oh, and the two Japanese men are named Mr. Agasa and Mr. Kurisuti. The younger one is an interpreter."

"They talked to you?"

"No. But my Japanese isn't quite as rusty as I thought."

"Wow. Exactly how many languages do you speak?"

"Fluently? I'd say 12, but my Norwegian is a bit weak."

"Well, I'll be sure to turn to Casey next time I need to order herring."

Sarah smiled briefly. "So are you feeling ok?"

"I've been worse. The coffee helped. Though whoever you were eavesdropping on was right about it being weak."

"So you and I are ok?"

"Yeah. We're good," Chuck smiled.

"Good. I still really need your help with getting that drive back."

"Oh. Well, the Intersect is back to its usual self. So you've got nothing to worry about there."

Sarah studied him for a moment and was about to saying something when a movement caught her eye. "It looks like something's happening."

* * *

Officer Blore had moved to the center of the room, and cleared his throat in a not-too-subtle way. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention."

Everyone was quiet, other than the translator, who was speaking quietly in Japanese.

Blore nodded, and waited for him to finish.

"As you know, we have had a very unfortunate circumstance here today." Chuck noticed Marston grumble and shake his head.

"We hope very much to have this situation resolved very quickly, and allow everybody to get back to their vacations."

"Resolved? What is there to resolve? The man is dead, isn't he?" It was Mrs. Armstrong who asked this. She had moved to the front of the crowd, and was eyeing the officer sternly through her horn-rimmed glasses.

"I assure you, madam. Things aren't always that simple. We have to resolve the cause of death."

"What are you saying? That somebody killed the man?"

"We can't know that just yet. We are merely ruling out any and all possibilities. However, while we are doing this, we must ask for everybody to remain available for questioning."

"Questioning?" Mrs. Armstrong snorted. "What could _I_ know about this?" Chuck decided that watching Mrs. Armstrong would be perfect research to get Charles Carmichael's haughty attitude down.

"Maybe nothing," Blore replied, nonplussed. "I assure you, this is all routine procedure."

"Well then, get proceeding," Mrs. Armstrong waved her hand dismissively. "As you said, we all have vacations to get to."

"I understand. And I do hope you are enjoying your stay at this lovely hotel. Because, if this turns out to be something other than routine, then you will all have to remain here until the investigation is completed."

* * *

"I see." General Beckman remarked through closed teeth. Not for the first time, Chuck wondered whether she had been a very stern, ruler-wielding headmistress in a past life. Either that, or Gengis Khan.

"So Strassburg is dead, and you have no idea where the flash drive is."

"No, General, we don't." Sarah spoke into the suitcase. Chuck was surprised to find that one of the cases he had lugged onto the boat contained a small video screen instead of the expected clothing. From here, they had been able to contact the General without going through the usual channels. Chuck wondered if they had any shoe phones in a CIA storeroom somewhere.

"I did manage to look around the island this morning, though. There is no access other than by water, and the only pier is by the hotel. There is no evidence that any boats since the one late last night that dropped off the two Japanese men."

"So either somebody escaped with the drive when that last boat left, or the drive is still on the island." Beckman nodded. "I needn't remind you about the importance of that drive. Retrieving it before any of our enemies do is crucial."

"What about Strassburg?" Chuck asked.

"What about him, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Shouldn't we figure out what happened to him?"

"Unless it leads us to the drive, Strassburg is no longer our concern. As far the US Government is concerned, if somebody killed him, they did us a favor."

"What about Agent Casey?" Sarah piped up.

The General rolled her eyes. "It seems there is a bit of a delay with Agent Casey."

"Couldn't get out of jury duty, huh?" Chuck's smile froze when the General's frosty eyes turned his way. "I mean, the man's civic pride should be commended."

"Unfortunately, that is the case. So for now, the two of you are on your own. I trust you are up to the task. So good luck, and do not contact me until you've retrieved the drive." The suitcase went black.

_A/N2: I had originally planned to work in Casey's adventures in jury duty as a subplot, but I decided that it would slow down the main plot, and it really deserves its own focus. So, at some point I'll try to work it in as a separate story. As soon as I am able to resist any temptation to call it "11 Angry Men and One Really Angry Casey" anyway._


	5. Chapter 5

_There are three certainties in life: death, taxes, and me not owning "Chuck."_

Chapter 5

"So now what?" Chuck whispered. Though must of the guests were seated there, the dining room was mostly silent. Most of the guests were eating their food silently, if at all. Having apparently decided that Strassburg's death was due to high cholesterol, Marston had decided that the lunch menu would be on the light side. Chuck noticed that Rogers especially seemed less than thrilled by his salad.

"I think the first thing we have to do is make sure that the flash drive wasn't still with Strassburg when he was found."

"You want to search the body?" Chuck's last bit of enthusiasm for his lunch vanished.

"Of course not. They removed all of his personal belongings before they moved him. One of Blore's deputies must have them."

"Ah."

"They'll probably be moved off island along with the body soon, but the boat is still here. So we're going to have to have a look before it leaves."

"So basically, we sneak onto a boat, rifle through a dead guy's stuff, and sneak back out?"

"Any objections?"

"Nope. Sounds like a typical Wednesday to me."

* * *

To an outside observer, it looked like Chuck and Sarah were watching the waves hit the edge of the beach. However, their attention was actually focused beyond the surf, on the police boat currently standing by the pier. Other than a single deputy standing around impatiently, there didn't seem to be any activity by the boat.

"It looks like this is our chance," Sarah finally stated, and led Chuck towards the pier.

"But what about the deputy?"

"I'll distract him while you go on."

"You'll…"

"Just trust me, Chuck. I doubt he's your type."

Chuck sighed, and watched Sarah walk up to the deputy. Flashing a quick smile and an inquisitive look, she quickly had the deputy's undivided attention. Chuck quietly headed towards the boat.

As he climbed up, he heard, "But you must be very important to look after this place by yourself."

"Well, I uh…of course." Chuck rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe that was working. He looked back at Sarah for a moment, and corrected himself. Of course it was working.

After sneaking on board, he followed a set of stairs down below deck. After checking a couple of doors, he finally found the evidence room. It was a fairly small, cluttered room, with boxes pushed against the walls. The boxes surrounded the two doors in the room, including the one Chuck had entered through and a second by the far wall. A table stood at the center, with several books and binders piled onto a desk.

Chuck quickly approached the table. Sarah had told him not to actually touch any of the evidence, as any change to the room would likely be noticed. Instead, he should look for a logbook which would list everything found on Strassburg. After a few minutes of anxious searching, he found the page he was looking for in a red binder. "A67493 – Klaus Strassburg, Martinada Island, 2/23/2009."

Chuck scanned the short list of Strassburg's belongings. Ruefully, he wondered what the list would look like if his dead body were to be discovered somewhere. He wasn't sure what people would be able to conclude about him from a set of Buy More keys, a cell phone, and a cash-strapped wallet with a driver's license and a discount card to the Burbank Gaming World.

Chuck certainly wasn't able to learn a whole lot about Strassburg from the list of his final belongings. A set of keys, a wallet filled with various foreign currency, and a handkerchief. There was no mention of a flash drive, however.

One item did catch his eye. According to the log, a letter had been found inside the wallet. In the ledger, the phrase "Romantic letter, not from wife" was written, with the word 'not' underlined. Chuck wished he could read the letter, but knew he couldn't ransack through the box without drawing attention to himself.

He was about to head out of the room when he heard the sound of footsteps up above. Whirling around in panic, his eyes found the second door, and he quickly headed towards it. With a tug, the door opened, and he was greeted by a rush of cool air. He headed inside, shutting the door behind him.

The room was a walk-in freezer, smaller than the one in the Orange Orange. A quick scan revealed that the room wasn't built to store yogurt, either. Two large drawers were built into the far wall, and Chuck figured he didn't need to open them to know that one of them was the current storage place for Klaus Strassburg.

* * *

The voices got louder as two men entered the evidence storage room. Chuck was able to peek through a small diamond-shaped window in the door, and recognized Officer Blore and the doctor who had been at the hotel. He quickly ducked back down to remain out of sight.

"Who was that woman talking with your deputy?" Chuck heard the doctor ask.

"One of the guests. A Mrs. Carmichael. Mr. Carmichael is some software guy. They seem to be having some marital troubles."

Chuck heard the doctor chuckle. "Well that's one woman I wouldn't mind losing arguments to."

"No kidding." After a pause, "so, you're sure then?"

"Well, I can't say 100% until we do an autopsy. But it doesn't look like a natural death to me. Drug overdose would be my guess. Maybe accidental, maybe not."

"Damn. At this point, we're just going to have to assume the worst. And this won't be a fun one. From what my crime scene guys tell me, there's no place worse for a murder than a hotel lobby. People are everywhere."

"At least access to the place is controlled. It's not like there are a lot of people at the island."

"Maybe not, maybe not. Still, you're sure it couldn't have been a heart attack."

"Highly unlikely."

Blore sighed. "I guess that's as close to a no as I'm going to get from you. I might as well find a place to start conducting interviews."

"You sure you don't want to take another look at the body?" Chuck gulped, and looked around for a place to hide. The only option he could see were the drawers, which wasn't an option he was anxious to explore.

"No, that's ok. I'll trust your judgment. Besides, you need to get it back to do your autopsy and make it official."

"Alright, well you enjoy your time here in paradise."

Blore snorted, and Chuck heard the two men leave the room and head back upstairs.

* * *

Chuck snuck back out of the freezer, and was about to leave the storage room when he heard another set of footsteps approach. Desperately, he dove under the table just as the door opened.

"Chuck, you're going to need to work on your hiding skills."

Sheepishly, Chuck crawled out from under the table, and stood up. "Sorry, you're a lot quieter than the cops."

"I'm trained to be. C'mon, we need to get out of here before the boat leaves." Chuck followed Sarah back up the stairs. They quickly looked around once they'd surfaced, and saw no sign of Blore, the deputy, or the doctor. Once back ashore, they headed back to the hotel.

"Did you find it?"

Chuck shook his head. "It wasn't listed on the log."

"Well, that doesn't mean that somebody didn't find it before. But at least it looks like it's still on the island."

"I heard the officer and the doctor talking. They said that Strassburg was almost certainly killed with a drug overdose."

Sarah pursed her lips in thought. "Well, from everything we've heard about him, he's very cautious about everything, so it doesn't seem like he'd overdose by accident. And guys in that line of work don't tend to commit suicide."

"So he was murdered." Chuck looked up at the hotel, as they approached the rear doors. "I did see one thing in the log. Apparently, they found a love note on him. And it wasn't from his wife."

"That seems foolish of him."

"Well yeah, but I guess traffickers of stolen goods don't blink at adultery."

"Not what I meant. It seems foolish of him not to have destroyed it."

"Ah. Very romantic of you."

"I'm just thinking of it from a practical angle. You don't leave evidence behind."

"No, I suppose not."

"I don't think it means much, anyway. Strassburg's wife wasn't his contact. It wouldn't make sense."

"True, but she might have killed him."

"Maybe so, but that's not really our concern."

"I guess not. Speaking of domestic issues, Blore mentioned that he thought the Carmichaels are having marital troubles."

Sarah stopped. "That's not good. I guess he heard about the scene in the restaurant last night. You really seem to have left an impression." She paused to think for a moment. "We need our cover to remain as unmemorable as possible, so we'll have to make sure that Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael have made up. We'll have to appear more like a married couple."

"Oh." Chuck tried to ignore the swirl of emotions bouncing through his head.

"Here, put your arm around me when we walk back in the hotel."

Chuck did so. Chuck thought about the conclusion he'd reached after the suburbs assignment the previous week. He'd felt sure at the time that he could accept that he and Sarah would never be more then friends, but situations like this weren't making it easy.

* * *

As they entered the hotel, they saw Emily seated by herself, bouncing a tennis ball at her feet. She looked up, and waved to them. "Too bad I left my camera upstairs. You guys would make a great picture for our web site."

Chuck felt Sarah stiffen slightly. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Emily. My wife is a bit camera-shy." Chuck was puzzled by this for a moment, until he realized that an undercover CIA agent wouldn't be anxious having her face seen on the internet.

"Really?" Emily said skeptically. "If I looked like that…"

"So what's with the mope?" Chuck interrupted.

"Oh. The policeman's back. He's going to start interrogating people, so he's taking everybody to my dad's office."

"I see. So what's wrong?"

"Would you believe, I don't even get to be questioned! I could totally be a murderer! Hasn't he heard, adolescents today are growing up faster than ever before."

Chuck smiled. "I doubt it's going to be that exciting. I'm sure you're the lucky one here." He leaned in and said quietly, "And I wouldn't be in such a rush to grow up. It's not as much fun as you think."

Emily shrugged. "That's what adults always say. I think they're just protecting their turf."

"So where's your dad's office?"

"Oh, down the hall over there," she pointed. "You guys are the last ones to get here, so you might want to hurry. They might think you're off burying evidence or something."

Sarah and Chuck headed down to Marston's office.

"Chuck, we really need to have our cover straight. They're probably going to question us separately. We have to make sure we have everything straight so they don't suspect anything about our cover. Remember everything we reviewed going here?"

"Yup. This is like a steel trap." Chuck pointed to his head.

"Good." Sarah squeezed his hand slightly and smiled up at him. Chuck sighed to himself. Situations like this _definitely_ weren't making things easy.

_A/N: The consensus seems to be that "Eleven Angry Men and One _Really_ Angry Casey" should be the title to the spin-off of this story. Now all I need is a plot..._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Chuck and Sarah followed Emily's directions, and found themselves in a small medium-sized waiting room. Blore was standing by a door at the end of the room, his arms folded over his chest, with an impatient look on his face. A large table stood at the center of the room. Seated at the table was Marston, along with Alex Rogers, Mrs. Strassburg, Nancy Lombard, Mrs. Armstrong, and the two Asian men. The two deputies were standing by Blore, awkwardly shuffling their feet.

"Well, I see everybody has arrived now." Blore nodded to Chuck and Sarah. "Folks, I apologize for the inconvenience, but at this point I am going to need to speak with each of you."

"So it is a murder?" Rogers interrupted. "You've got to be kidding."

"We don't know that yet. However, it is important that we talk with you while the events of last night are still fresh in your mind."

"Well you surely don't think any of us could know anything about such a sordid affair," Mrs. Armstrong remarked. "It must be one of the staff."

"I assure you madam, all of my employees are thoroughly screened," Marston replied. "I will vouch for all of them."

"Well I would have said the same thing about my ex-husband. I hope you aren't as confident about them as I was about him."

"Everybody, please." Blore spoke up. "All I need is a few minutes with each of you." He turned to Mrs. Strassburg. "Perhaps we can start with you," he said in a softer voice. "If you are feeling up to it."

Mrs. Strassburg nodded, her hair flailing against her black dress. "Of course." Blore opened the door, and led her and one of the deputies inside, shutting it behind him.

* * *

The room was silent for a moment, as everybody studied each other closely. Chuck felt as if they were waiting for someone to display some facial tic, guffaw ominously, or do something else unusual that would brand them as a murderer. It would probably be a bad time to have a flash. After a moment, he felt Sarah release his hand and stand up. She approached the second deputy, who was still standing around watching the room. It was the same deputy she had talked to earlier.

"Excuse me," she said quietly. "It was a bit warm outside, and I feel the need to freshen up. Would it be ok for me to go up to my room?"

"Oh, I don't know ma'am, I really am supposed to keep an eye on everything."

"You can follow me to my room if you'd like." Chuck's eyes darted up at this.

"Well, I don't think it's necessary, but I should make sure that's where you go. We wouldn't want anybody running around when there could be, you know…" he looked up, realizing he was saying a bit much.

"I can keep an eye on the room," Marston said.

"Ok, I'll be right back."

As the deputy left with Sarah, Mrs. Armstrong snorted. "Typical."

Everybody sat silently for a while, looking at each other with a mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and boredom. Finally, Nancy leaned over towards Chuck and said quietly, "You rich folks really know how to vacation, don't you?"

"Well, you know those Murder Mystery Cruises you can go on?" Chuck replied. "We figure we can do the same, but up the realism of the experience a bit." Mrs. Armstrong looked at him with disgust for a moment, before returning to scornfully studying the tattoo on Rogers' arm.

After a moment, Chuck added, "So I guess you were wrong?"

"About?"

"The heart attack. You wouldn't think they'd do all this," he motioned to the room, "if that was all it was."

Nancy shrugged. "I'm just a nurse. I should probably leave the diagnoses to actual doctors. So you think he was murdered?"

"It sure looks like it, doesn't it?"

"You think these guys are going to catch him?"

"Oh, I'm sure they're very good at what they do." That got a 'humph' from Mrs. Armstrong. Nancy looked at Chuck and smiled.

"Well I'll make a deal with you. If Officer Blore in there isn't up to it, you and I will bring this murderer down."

"You've got a deal." Chuck offered his hand, and shook it. At that moment, the door opened and Sarah returned with the deputy. She studied Chuck and Nancy for a moment, then sat next to him. "Everything ok?" Chuck asked her.

Sarah nodded. "Anything happen?" she asked, straightening the dark skirt she was now wearing.

"Nope. Just waiting around for…" Chuck was interrupted by the inner door opening, and Officer Blore walking out with Mrs. Strassburg. She walked out, her duty apparently completed.

Blore looked around for a bit, before his eyes stopped on Chuck and Sarah. "Now, why don't we start with our late comers. How about you first?" he pointed to Chuck.

Sarah put her hand in Chuck's and said, "Everything will be ok." She reached in to kiss his cheek. "Make sure to plant this in the room," she whispered as she did so, slipping a small disc into Chuck's hand. Having seen it before, he didn't need to flash to know it was a bug.

Chuck flashed a quick, nervous smile and followed Blore into the room.

* * *

"Have a seat." Blore motioned to a small conference table inside the office. The room was quite neat, with books stacked on wooden bookshelves, each marked with a year. A few potted plants stood by the shelves, and next to a smaller table was at one side of the room. In addition to a few folders were stacked on this table, Chuck recognized a few pictures of Emily as well.

"So, your full name is Charles Andrew Carmichael?" Blore sat down, while the deputy began writing on a notepad.

"Yes." Chuck had been convinced that his identity should have a less notable middle name than Irving.

"Age 29, currently residing in Los Angeles, California?"

"All correct." Chuck wasn't sure how Blore had this information, but he guessed the CIA was good at planting false trails when necessary.

"And you're the CEO of Juncture Software Company?"

Chuck smiled. He felt pride for Charles Carmichael's success, even though it was completely manufactured. "That's right."

"Can't say I've heard of it."

"Oh, we do games mostly, occasionally branching out into other types of software products."

"Sounds fascinating," Blore replied drolly.

"To me it is. Games are a great way for people to stay connected, even if they're playing from all over the world." Chuck noted Blore's disinterest, and stopped.

"And the recession, that hasn't hit you too much?"

Chuck shrugged. Apparently Blore was looking for a financial motive for the crime. "People always like games, no matter how much money they have."

Blore nodded, before shifting tactics. "And you're married to Sarah Jennifer Carmichael?"

Chuck smiled. "That's my darling wife waiting outside."

"And you two have been married…"

The memories of the cram session the previous day came rushing back. "Three years."

"And how did you two meet?"

"I met her at one of our Juncture parties. She was invited by a friend. I saw her across the room and I knew I had to go up to talk to her. Turns out she was a school teacher, and we were looking to get into the educational software market. So we got to talking, she helped us out with some suggestions, and we started dating." Chuck thought the story was a bit cheesy when Sarah had told it to him, but he guessed it worked. He could certainly picture Carmichael approaching Sarah at a party. Still, he wished he'd had a chance to help when the CIA came up with the back story.

"No kidding. And where is your wife from?"

Chuck took a second. "Back east. Connecticut."

"And her maiden name? We couldn't find it in the records."

Chuck paused as the memories from the previous day rushed away. He was sure Sarah had mentioned it. He seemed to remember that it began with a K. "Korhonen," he said somewhat uncertainly.

"Korhonen? That's a unique one."

"Um, it's Finnish-German."

"Really. Wouldn't have guessed that. So have you been to Germany?"

"Uh, sure. Once or twice in the last year. We're trying to expand our international market." Chuck hoped he'd covered himself well.

"So, have you ever met Klaus Strassburg? He lived in Germany."

"Oh? No, we were only there for a short time."

"Or Mrs. Strassburg?"

"Nope."

"And did you speak with either of them here?"

"Didn't have a chance. We only got here yesterday afternoon."

"How about any of the other guests?"

"Not really. Miss, uh, Lombard was on the boat with us coming over. Oh, and Emily, the owner's daughter."

"Ah yes. I've never met an eleven-year-old that gave me advice on my job before."

Chuck laughed. Despite the pressure of the situation, he felt himself relax a bit.

"So there's nothing you saw last night or any time today that could help us with this?"

"No, not really."

"I suppose you may have missed something last night. From what I hear, you had a bit much to drink, and quarreled with your wife."

Chuck tensed. At least Blore hadn't brought up the fire. "Yes," he said grudgingly.

"Disagreement over educational software, I suppose?"

"No, no."

"Well, what was your argument about?"

Chuck's mind raced for a second. He needed an explanation that would seem plausible but not out of the ordinary. He wondered what Sarah would want him to say. "Oh, it was nothing. I know I shouldn't have, but I brought some work with me. It was unfair to Sarah, and she told me so. She's right, of course. How can somebody work at a place like this?"

"So, pressure at work then?"

"Yes."

"I thought you said that people always like games."

"Well, yes, they do. But, money's tight everywhere." Chuck could feel himself getting flustered. "What does this have to do with Strassburg?"

"Maybe nothing. We just like to cover all our bases. So, you're feeling better today?"

"Yes. A little embarrassed is all."

"Well, it could be worse. You're still alive." Blore looked down, as if to study his notes one last time. "So, Mr. Carmichael, there's nothing else you can tell us?"

"No, I'm sorry. I'd like to help, but…" Chuck held up his hands in a helpless gesture.

"Well, thank you for speaking with us. That's all for now."

Blore turned to the deputy seated next to him, who showed him the notepad. Chuck took advantage of the moment, to slide his hand under the table and plant the bug underneath.

He quickly looked up and nodded to the two men. "Good luck," he said, as he headed out the door.

Blore followed him outside. "Mrs. Carmichael?" he said.

Chuck put his hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Don't worry, dear," he said to her, then leaning in, "The bug's under the table. Oh, and your maiden name is Korhonen."

* * *

Sarah studied the room as she entered. It was small and windowless, and the only door was the one through which she had entered. The only air coming into the room was from a small ventilation shaft in the wall above where Blore and the deputy were standing. Some papers and a few pictures were stacked on a table standing to the side. Sarah sat down and studied the officer, waiting for him to begin.

Finally, after a few awkward moments, the officer began. "So you are Mrs. Sarah Carmichael?"

Sarah knew that the safest approach in an interrogation was to give short answers to Blore's questions. "Yes."

"Formerly Sarah Korhonen of Connecticut?" Blore's lips twitched upward in a partial smile.

"Yes."

"That's quite a name. You mustn't have had any trouble taking your husband's name."

Sarah shrugged. The detective seemed to be trying to be as friendly as possible, to be able to catch her off-guard at some point. He probably spent his free time watching television police procedurals.

"And you've been married…"

"Three years."

"And you used to teach seventh grade English at Byron Allen Middle School?"

"Yes." Apparently, Blore had been able to find the back story that the CIA had planted. It wasn't a difficult process. Credit histories, employment records, and birth and marriage records had been added to the necessary places. Still, she would have to get back in touch with them so could fix her maiden name in the records.

"But you quit after your marriage?"

"Well, my husband's business has been very successful, so I was able to take time off."

"That must be nice. So how did you two meet?"

"At one of Charles' company's parties." Sarah and Chuck had worked especially hard in memorizing the details of this.

"You usually get invited to parties thrown by rich software developers?"

"No. But one of my fellow teachers had been invited, and convinced me to go along. That's where I met him."

"So the owner of the company spent his time at his own party talking to a schoolteacher? You must have been surprised."

Sarah smiled, imagining Chuck hitting on her. "That's not Charles at all. He was actually very nervous around me, and it took him a while to come up to me. He wasn't what I expected at all. When I finally went to talk to him, he was actually really sweet, and really seemed interested in what I had to say."

"Are you interested in computers as well?"

"No, not really. He'd been considering branching off into educational programs, and wanted my opinion. I could never dream of knowing computers like he does. Chuck is really amazing with that sort of thing."

Sarah realized her slip a second after she finished speaking. And she was clearly breaking her own rule, speaking too much. She needed to be more careful

"Chuck?"

Sarah flashed a smile. "He only lets me call him that. To everybody else, he's Charles."

"I see. I understand the two of you had an argument in the restaurant last night?"

"Yes." Sarah returned to the short responses.

"What about?"

Sarah had recovered from her earlier mistake, and only took a second to come up with a response. She knew that Chuck would have taken the blame himself, and considered what story he would have used. "His work. It was really my fault. I wasn't too happy that Charles was thinking about his work while we were on vacation. I should have been more patient with him. He has a lot of responsibility to shoulder. A lot of people rely on him."

"And now?"

"We talked about it, and everything's fine."

"Good to hear. So had you ever met Strassburg?"

"Never."

"Mrs. Strassburg?"

"No."

"Have you ever been to Germany?"

Sarah caught Blore's tone, and guessed what Chuck had said earlier. "No, those were mostly short business trips for Charles' company. We didn't get to see much while we were there."

"No Korhonens out there?"

"None that we met."

"Have you spoken to Mr. or Mrs. Strassburg since you've arrived here?"

"No. We've hardly spoken to anyone other than Marston and his daughter, Emily."

"Ah yes. I've never met an eleven-year-old that gave me advice on my job before."

Sarah smiled briefly. Blore's attempts to catch people off-guard with humor were rather clumsy. He probably hadn't run too many murder investigations. He was probably ready to pounce with a more direct question.

"I noticed you didn't mention meeting Nancy Lombard. Your husband did."

Sarah shrugged. "I believe we were on the boat together. My husband may have spoken to her."

"And that's it."

"That's it." Chuck did seem to be talking with her quite often, but that was hardly Blore's concern.

"Nothing more you'd like to add?"

"Not really."

"Ok, then, Mrs. Carmichael. Thank you for your time."

As Sarah stood up, she knocked her purse off the chair where it hung. Leaning down, she glanced under the table and saw the bug. She felt guilty for doubting Chuck. Grabbing the purse, she stood up and turned to leave.

"Thank you officers." She said as she exited the room.


	7. Chapter 7

_To clarify, the absence of a disclaimer in the last chapter did not mean that I temporarily owned "Chuck" only to quickly lose it because I didn't read the fine print of the contract. And this did not mean that I took NBC to court over the contract. And it certainly does not mean that I acted as my own lawyer, yelling "Objection!" at inopportune times, and ending my closing argument with "I'm out of order? You're out of order! The whole system is out of order!" And contrary to popular opinion, it did not mean I was booted from the courtroom while yelling "This isn't how it was done on Matlock!" Nor does it mean I went home to furiously write "Matlock" fan fiction. And it absolutely should not in any way suggest that I double-checked this site to make sure that nobody actually has written any "Matlock" fan fiction._

_I hope that clears everything up._

Chapter 7

Chuck was seated in the hotel room, flipping through channels on the room TV when Sarah returned. Turning away from the 'Rockford Files' rerun, he asked, "How'd it go?"

"Ok, I think." Sarah reached down and grabbed another one of the suitcases and put it down on the bed. Pressing on the latch, the side flipped open revealing a set of audio equipment.

As she pulled an antenna out of the suitcase she added, "We're going to have to fix the Korhonen situation, though."

"Umm, sorry about that," Chuck replied as he clicked off the TV. "I really drew a blank. Was I even close?"

"It was Jones."

"Jones? But that sounds fake."

"Chuck, it sounds fake because there are so many people in this country named Jones. So, even if someone does get suspicious it would be very difficult for them to check out our story. That won't be the samewith Korhonen."

"I'm sorry, Sarah. I guess I'm not so great with lying."

Sarah stopped working on the suitcase. "Trust me, Chuck, that's a good thing. Once you get to be too good at it, you…tend to lose sight of when you're actually telling the truth. And you start to lie to yourself a lot."

"Ok, I get it. But next time I'm being interviewed, I'll be sure to say your maiden name is Smith."

"Don't say Smith. It sounds fake." Sarah pulled a cord out of the case and plugged the cord into the room's clock radio, and turned on the volume. "Now let's see what we're missing."

* * *

"…and then I found Jenkins in the endzone. 'Zona never knew what hit them!" Chuck recognized Rogers' voice.

"Fantastic!" Chuck didn't recognize that voice, but guessed that it belonged to the deputy.

"Ok, ok, Mr. Rogers, we get the idea. But perhaps we could discuss something a little more recent than your college days," Officer Blore's voice came through the receiver in the suitcase. "So, after you left UCLA, you headed to the pros, where you've just finished your third season."

"I'm sure you didn't need to ask me that, officer."

"No, of course not. And I suppose I don't need to ask you how your last season went, since I do read the sports pages."

After a pause Rogers said, "Well you must understand it takes a little while to adjust to a new offensive system. Even a slight setback like that can derail a season, however I'm confident that we will be right on track next year." The statement sounded quite rehearsed to Chuck. He guessed that Rogers had done his fair share of interviews lately.

"Well sure. I suppose not getting any DUIs will help next season's chances as well."

There was an even longer pause this time. "Look, officer, I hardly see…"

"I just want to make sure I know something about each of the guests who are staying here, given what has happened."

"Well, you seem to already know all you need to about me," Rogers said petulantly.

"Now I understand a couple of your teammates this past year used to play in the league in Germany."

"Yeah, uh, Stokes and Sandusky."

"You close with them?"

"I'm close with all of my teammates, Officer." After a pause, "Don't believe what you read on the internet."

"So you've never been to Germany yourself?"

"I assure you, my career hasn't gone that far downhill."

"And you've never met Strassburg?"

"Not that I can remember. At least I don't think so. I do attend a lot of parties. Was he an agent?"

Blore didn't answer. "Have you attended Martinada Island before?"

"Never. My agent's idea. Not one of his better ones."

"And have you talked with anybody here?"

"Nobody. Though I wouldn't mind meeting up with the wife of that oaf that started the fire last night." Chuck was offended for both Sarah and himself, as well as somewhat amused that he hadn't mentioned being shot down by Nancy.

"Did you ever see Strassburg doing anything out of the ordinary while you were here?"

"No."

"And there's nothing you saw last night or this morning that could be relevant to this morning."

"Not a thing."

"Ok, Mr. Rogers. That's all for now."

* * *

"This is great and all," Chuck said as the police prepared to begin the next interview. "It's like a reality show, but with less Danny Bonaduce. But I thought we weren't interested in who killed Strassburg."

"We're not, but we could still learn something about who has the flash drive. Blore may not be asking the questions we would ask, but he could still get the answers we're looking for."

"Well I hardly think that Rogers guy is our man, even if he does like to hit on other men's wives."

Sarah smiled briefly. "I wouldn't worry about that. He isn't Mrs. Carmichael's type. Still, you can't dismiss him right away, Chuck. Athletes do a lot of traveling, and he does seem to have a connection to Germany."

Sarah stopped speaking as the receiver began picking up sounds again. "Have a seat, Miss Lombard," came through the suitcase.

"Still, there are other suspects here that we'll need to consider," Sarah said quietly.

"Thank you for speaking with us," Blore continued.

"I'm glad to help in any way," Chuck heard Nancy's voice speak up.

"Now, your name is Nancy Lombard, 27 years of age, from Philadelphia, PA."

"That's right."

"And you are currently employed as a nurse."

"Yes."

"If you don't mind my saying so, Miss Lombard. This is a rather exclusive resort. Generally, one wouldn't expect to find nurses here. Or cops, for that matter," Blore sounded almost apologetic.

"Yes, I know I seem out of place around here. But I paid my way just like everybody else. I recently inherited some money."

"Ah, of course. This would be from Anderson Hastings."

"That's right." After a pause, "If you knew that, why did you ask how I could afford to be here?" Nancy sounded somewhat offended.

"It's important for me to verify all of our information, that's all. If you'll forgive me for continuing, I understand that you were Mr. Hastings' nurse for the last few months of his life."

"For about a year, actually."

"It's rather…unorthodox for a very wealthy man to leave the bulk of his estate to his nurse."

Chuck heard Nancy sigh. "Yes, I suppose." No sound came from the receiver for a minute. Finally, "I suppose you want to know why Anderson Hastings left so much to me."

"If you please."

"And…Mr. Hastings had been sick for years. He'd had lung cancer a few years back, but it had gone into remission. When it came back, he nearly gave up. He needed somebody to show him that he still had reason to fight, and that's what I did. Still, he needed constant care for the rest of his life, and that's what I gave him."

"But he had a family."

"A son and a daughter, both estranged for many years. I never even saw them until the reading of the will. Look, all I did was listen to him, make him comfortable, when nobody else would. I didn't ask, or do anything else, to try to get any of his money." Chuck could hear Nancy's deep breaths after she had finished talking.

"I see. So, needless to say, this is your first time here?"

"That's right."

"And you had never met Klaus Strassburg before?"

"No. Why would I?"

"I don't know, but we need to ask. Had you spoken with him at all since you arrived?"

"No, not at all."

"And you didn't see him speaking or interacting with anybody else."

"No, other than his wife at dinner last night. I went to bed fairly early last night, and I'm staying on the second floor so I wouldn't have had much chance to see anything else."

"Ok. Now, what about any of the other guests? Have you spoken with any of them?"

"Well, that guy Rogers talked to me last night."

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing worth remembering. Other than that, I've spoken to Charles Carmichael, the software mogul, a couple of times."

"Ah yes, he mentioned that as well. Did he say anything that might be of importance?"

"Just small talk, really." Chuck was relieved that she didn't mention their agreement about finding the murderer.

"What about his wife? Have you spoken to her?"

"No. He seems a lot friendlier than she does, actually." Chuck looked up at Sarah in amusement, but she didn't seem to acknowledge the remark.

"Is that it? Nothing else you can add?"

"No. I think you've got it all."

"Ok. Thank you for your time, Miss Lombard."

* * *

"Who's next?" Blore asked through the case.

"Well," the deputy replied, "there's still the two Japanese gentlemen, and the old woman, Mrs. Armstrong."

"Ooh," Blore responded. "Tough choice. Ah, let's go with the Japanese first." Chuck heard the footsteps of the two men as they left the room. He glanced at Sarah, who seemed deep in thought.

"What?"

"Chuck, Anderson Hastings was the CFO of Sittaford Electronics, the weapons manufacturer."

"So?"

"So, she could have been using her position to get information from him."

"Oh, come on, you don't think… Sarah, if that was true, why would she need to get the flash drive from Strassburg?"

"I don't know, Chuck," Sarah responded after a moment. "I just want to make sure you aren't letting your guard down around her. Just because she's a pretty brunette, it doesn't mean she's not dangerous."

"Sarah, that's not fair. Don't you think I've seen enough these last two years to know that bad guys don't always look like…bad guys?"

"Ok, Chuck, I know. I just don't want you to get hurt. It's my job to protect you, from whoever I need to."

"I know it is," Chuck said quietly.

"Mr. Kurisuti, I hope you won't mind translating for me," Blore's voice appeared through the suitcase receiver again. "I'm afraid Japanese never came up in my education."

"Of course." Kurisuti replied in only the slightest trace of an accent. He then proceeded to say something quickly in Japanese. Chuck had to strain to hear the soft-spoken reply, but Sarah snorted after the older man had finished speaking.

"What?"

Before Sarah could respond, Kurisuti said, "He says that we will be happy to help you in any way we can."

"Actually, he said 'Humor Columbo for now. He's clearly in over his head.'" Sarah explained.

"Well, I appreciate that. I hope we give you folks a good impression of law enforcement in our country. I assure you we will make sure that you are perfectly safe here." After Blore spoke, Kurisuti quickly spoke in Japanese, and Agaso again responded quietly.

"'I would feel safer being protected by my pet goldfish.'" Sarah translated.

"'We thank you for your calming words,'" Kurisuti translated.

"'Ok. I just want to get a bit of background information on Mr. Agaso. I'm afraid we don't have access to many records in your country."

"'You know what to tell the cowboy. Just don't tell him why we're here,'" Sarah translated Agaso's response, giving Chuck a meaningful look.

"'Mr. Agaso has worked for many years in the automobile industry, starting as a worker and then rising through the company until he was on the board of directors. He has recently retired, and is taking time to travel throughout the world."

"So, if I'm having trouble with my Honda, he's the guy I should talk to?"

"'Maybe Walker Texas Ranger should try treating it like the fine machinery it is rather than like a horse,'" Sarah translated.

""Uh, Mr. Agato suggests taking bringing it to the dealer," Kurisuti said a moment later.

"Oh, I see. So, has Mr. Agaso been to Martinada Island before?"

"'No, I have not had the opportunity to enjoy the lovely scenery and violence here.'"

"Mr. Agaso says no."

"And had he ever met Klaus Strassburg before?"

"No," Kurisuti replied.

"That time the translation was correct," Sarah commented.

"And any of the other guests?"

"No."

"Ok. Now I think it's your turn, Mr. Kurisuti. I understand you spent some time in the US a few years back?"

"That's correct. I went to school at Columbia, and then spent some time working as a translator at the UN. A couple of years ago, I decided that I wanted to return to my home country, and I got a job translating for Mr. Agato."

"I see. And in your time here, you never met Strassburg?"

"No, never."

"And any of the other guests?"

"No."

"Have either of the two of you spoken to any of the guests while you've been here?"

"I have not, Officer, other than the owner here, of course. And I can tell you that Mr. Agato could not speak to anybody without my knowing about it."

"And have either of you seen anything that you think is suspicious?"

Kurisuti translated, and they heard a short reply from Agato's soft voice. "He says he never saw Strassburg. He did say that he thought he saw the blonde woman walking about late last night."

Chuck turned to Sarah in alarm, who shook her head but said nothing.

"Ok, thank you, gentlemen. I do appreciate you taking time from your vacation to help us out. It is always good to have such international cooperation."

After Kurisuti translated, Agato said something in reply. "We will be sure to lock our doors, because Dirty Harry is more likely to shoot himself in the foot than catch the murderer," Sarah translated.

"Thank you," Kurisuti translated.

After the interview had finished, Chuck said, "He saw you! What are you going to do?"

"Relax, Chuck. He saw me walking through the halls at night. It's nothing that can't be explained."

"But what if he suspects us?"

"I don't think he has any way to connect us to Strassburg. Chuck, everything is fine."

A high, chirping sound came through the receiver. "Yes?" they heard Blore say. It was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "I see."

"Well, it's official," he said. "The tests came back. It looks like the cause of death was definitely a drug overdose."

_In case anybody's curious, Korhonen is the 18,614th most common last name in the US, according to the last census. Walker was the 28th most common, and Casey was the 463rd. Bartowski...wasn't listed._

_See, I aim to educate too!_

_Please keep on reviewing. I appreciate all feedback, positive or negative._


	8. Chapter 8

_I don't own Chuck, but here are some potential spin-offs I'm considering investing in:_

_Forrest From the Trees: Agent Alex Forrest, despondent after getting dropped from Team Bartowski, moves to the Poconos to become Housemother to students in an all-girl's school._

_NSA Miami: Red-haired General Beckman moves to Florida to head Miami's Division of the NSA. Much crime-solving and emphatic sunglasses-removing ensues._

_Morgan: Morgan (new last name "Rhodastern") moves to the big city on his own, looking for romance and a break from sidekick-dom._

_(Disclaimer to be continued)_

Chapter 8

"It was the high blood pressure medication he had been taking. He had six times the usual dosage in his system." Officer Blore was explaining this to his deputy, while Chuck and Sarah listened in through the makeshift receiver in their hotel room.

"So, he could have taken an overdose by accident, or on purpose," the deputy's voice spoke up.

"I don't think so. His wife said he was very careful with his medication. And he didn't leave a note, or show any indication that he wanted to take his own life. I'm afraid we're looking for a murderer on this island." Chuck felt the glaring absence of a bolt of thunder to complete the mood.

"Maybe his wife wasn't telling the truth about him."

"I can't think why she would do that. She's either telling the truth, and he was killed by someone, or she's lying. And in that case, then she would be the prime suspect herself."

"Should we talk to her again?"

Blore sighed. "No. I think we're going to have to talk to that Armstrong woman now. Can't put it off any longer."

A moment later, they heard soft footsteps enter the room. "Well, it's about time. I've been waiting in that shoddy little room all morning. I'm a paying guest, and shouldn't be treated like that."

"I understand that you're upset, Mrs. Armstrong, but we do need to talk to everybody."

"Well I can't imagine why you need to talk to me. I certainly don't associate with that type of a man."

"And what type is that, Mrs. Armstrong?"

"Why, the type that gets murdered, of course!"

"I see." Chuck thought he could hear the smile in Blore's voice. "Still, I'm sure someone like yourself, who demands only the best service at all time, must appreciate that I must pay attention to the finest of details."

Chuck heard Mrs. Armstrong 'hmph,' but otherwise remain quiet.

"Now, your full name is Ellen Armstrong, correct?"

"Yes. Named after my grandmother."

"Of course. Of course. And you're from Philadelphia, where you have lived for the past thirty years."

"Yes. But I can't see how…"

"I'm just covering my bases, nothing to be concerned about, Mrs. Armstrong. Now, you were married to an Alexander Armstrong, an investment banker, for 24 years, up until one year ago."

"Your facts are correct, Officer, if irrelevant. My ex-husband may be a lot of things, but he didn't swim over to this island to kill someone."

"Well, thank you for setting me straight, Mrs. Armstrong. Now, I understand you did quite well in the divorce settlement."

"If you must now, yes I did. My ex-husband had done some very foolish things, and they came to light during the proceedings."

"Would you care to explain those 'very foolish things'?"

"No I would not." Mrs. Armstrong pronounced the words emphatically.

"Ok, perhaps we could move on. Have you been to Martinada Island before?"

"I have stayed here many times. Nothing like this has happened before. It just shows that you can't count on anything any more."

"I see. And, as you said before, you'd never met Strassburg before."

"Absolutely not."

"And any of the other guests?"

Armstrong snorted. "They are no one I would associate with. Why there's a man here with a tattoo! Not to mention that drunken oaf that almost set the place on fire last night, or that girl who looks like she must have won some radio contest or something in order to get here."

"And there's nothing you've seen that could help us."

"I assure you I mind my own business, so I don't go snooping in other's affairs."

"Ok. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Armstrong."

Chuck heard her snort as she left the room.

* * *

Once the interview with Mrs. Armstrong concluded, the interviews with the hotel staff began. At Marston's behest, the kitchen staff was interviewed first so that dinner could be started, followed by the maids, and finally with Marston himself. Shortly after the first interview, Sarah told Chuck that she wanted to call in, and instructed him to write down anything that he thought was important.

In the end, Chuck didn't write down much. As it turned out, there wasn't a whole lot of staff. Given the small number of guests, he wasn't particularly surprised. Most of the staff had been at the hotel for years, making them seem less suspicious to him. Chuck guessed that if Strassburg's contact worked at the hotel, he or she would have only started recently. Of course, the contact could have a planted back story like Chuck and Sarah's.

Chuck sighed at the thought, pushing his hand through his hair. The interviews, dull as they were, gave him a welcome break from filling the life of Charles Carmichael. His interrogation with Blore had been quite a strain, and he was amazed that the Korhonen slip was the only mistake he had made. He'd done undercover work before, but never for as long as this. He wished he could hide in the hotel room until it was time to go, but he knew that he couldn't. Sarah was counting on him.

His attention returned to the tape, and he recognized Marston's voice.

"I hope my staff have been cooperative, Officer," Marston said.

"Very much, Mr. Marston, thank you. This is a very nice place you have here. Usually when I'm on travel, I get put up at the local Red Roof."

"Well, we aim to please here."

"So, how long have you been running this place?"

"Oh, it's been in my family from the start. My grandfather opened the place after World War II. Moved his wife and my father out here. When he passed, my father took over, and now it's come to me after my father died ten years ago."

"The family business, huh. Nice to hear. These days, it's all chains and corporations. It's nice to hear that the little guy is still around too."

"Yeah well, it's not that easy for the little guy."

"Oh, business not so good?"

"You've noticed the fairly short list of suspects we've given you, Officer? Usually, it's a bit more crowded than this."

"So you don't have a lot of loyal customers? I understand Mrs. Armstrong has been here before."

"Has she? I suppose. We get our fair share of Mrs. Armstrongs, Officer, and it's tough keeping them straight. They're not exactly my favorite guests. Very meticulous about everything, and always making my staff's lives miserable."

"Ever think of selling out?"

"How can I? As you said, it's the family business."

"Speaking of family, your daughter…"

"Emily."

"Yes, Emily. I understand you and her mother are divorced?"

"For a few years now. She didn't particularly like this lifestyle. She lives in Seattle now, but Emily stays with me in the summers."

"Sounds nice."

"I suppose. Not sure Emily would agree with you about it. We don't get a whole lot of other kids staying here."

"Just a lot of Mrs. Armstrongs?"

"Exactly."

"But not Strassburg?"

"He's never stayed here before."

"Did he book in advance?"

"Yes, a few months actually. He was quite emphatic about staying here this week."

"Interesting. And nothing seemed unusual about him when he came here?"

"Well, I don't really know what his usual is, Officer."

"He didn't seem distraught or preoccupied?"

"Distraught, no. Maybe a bit distracted. His wife is a bit of a handful I guess."

"Did you see them fight or anything?"

"No. The only fight I saw was between the Carmichaels."

"Ah, yes. Now they haven't stayed here before, either?"

"No."

"And did they book in advance?"

"Only a few days ago. Usually, we wouldn't have had any rooms available, but…"

"I see. Now have you seen anything unusual about them?"

"No, why should I? We get our fair share of marital disagreements here. Everybody goes on vacation expecting it will cure whatever is wrong with their relationships, but it usually doesn't work out that way."

"I suppose not. What about the other guests?"

"All first timers. Don't know anything about them, other than Rogers of course."

"You a fan?"

"I went to USC, so not really."

"Ah. Now, there isn't anything you've seen that could be relevant at all?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well, I will let you get back to your staff."

"Thank you. I need to make sure dinner goes well. Officer?"

"Yes, Mr. Marston?"

"Please resolve this soon. All of this is making the guests edgy, and a hotel full of edgy guests is not something I want to deal with."

* * *

A few moments after Marston's interview concluded, Chuck heard footsteps behind him. "Get anything?"

"Well, not a whole…" Chuck trailed off. The blue dress Sarah had put on only accentuated the blue eyes looking back at him. After a moment, he realized he was staring. "How'd you get so…so quickly?"

"I didn't only carry surveillance equipment in my luggage," she replied with a smile.

"So what's the occasion?"

"Dinner."

"Oh, I didn't realize…ok. I'll…uh, get changed."

Chuck tore through his suitcase in the bedroom, finally finding the right tie. As he grabbed a shirt, he heard, "So did you find anything out?"

"Uh, not much. The place has been in Marston's family for years, but business isn't that good."

"Ok, that could be important. I'd assumed Strassburg's contact would have to do a lot of traveling, but it's possible that everyone comes to him. What else?"

"Well, most of the staff has been here for years. Strassburg hasn't been here before, and he booked in advance."

"So, the exchange had been planned for months. Ok."

"Other than that, not a very exciting day's eavesdropping." Chuck finished changing and stepped back into the living room. Sarah eyed him for a moment, and smiled. "Not too shabby."

"Why thank you, Mrs. Carmichael. Shall we go?"


	9. Chapter 9

_Previous Disclaimer continued:_

_Devon: Devon Woodcomb moves away from medicine to host a radio medical talk show and watch over his disabled father._

_Lester, Surely: Lester heads to Milwaukee to realize his dream of working in a brewery._

_Morgan: Morgan (new last name "Rhodastern") moves to the big city on his own, looking for romance and a break from sidekick-dom._

_Jill Loves Chachi: No explanation needed._

Chapter 9

"So, what's good on the menu tonight, Mrs. C?"

"Mrs. C?" Sarah gave him a speculative look.

Chuck shrugged. "I just thought I'd try it out. Does it work?"

"Well, it makes you sound like the Fonz, for one thing."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "The Fonz? Did you just make a pop culture reference? Will wonders never cease?"

Sarah shrugged, "My hotel gets cable."

"So, I have something I have to ask you."

Sarah looked up, after taking a sip of water. "What's that?"

"Our whole you know…story." Chuck looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. "Who came up with that?"

"The CIA has a group of people who sets these things up. Why?"

"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but your guys suck."

"Why? I thought you liked the idea of being a software mogul."

"Oh sure, that's great. But, educational software? How boring can you get? And did you really want to be a school teacher?"

Sarah thought about it for a moment. "I guess it's not what I would have come up with either. I wouldn't make much of a teacher."

"I didn't say that."

"Please. You're much better with kids than me. Look at Emily."

"Emily likes you."

"She barely talked to me."

"Well, that's because she talks a lot, and so do I."

"Still, I think she's got a bit of a crush on you." Sarah smiled.

"You think? I guess I need to control my charm better."

"Yeah, you watch yourself, buddy." Chuck looked down to see that Sarah had put her hand over his.

A moment later, the waiter approached the table. Chuck recognized Brent from last night. "You folks look to be in fine form tonight."

"Well, after a day like today, it seems like a nice dinner is just the thing."

"Yeah, everybody seems to be pretty stir crazy around here." Chuck looked around. The two Japanese men had arrived at one of the tables, and Rogers was seated at another. Mrs. Armstrong was seated in one of the corners. He didn't see Nancy or Mrs. Strassburg anywhere.

"I just hope I don't have to serve that Blore guy," Brent continued. "What a pain that guy is. I tell ya, I'm not taking any crap from him. I don't know if he or Armstrong is worse."

"Gave you trouble again?"

"Every year it's something new with her. Food's too spicy, food's not spicy enough. You'd think she'd remember from year to year. Man, I hate being cooped up in this place."

"Why? This seems like a great place to work."

"Eh, I've been here for two years, and that's about enough for me. Marston's gotten more and more impatient, what with the economy and all, and he's starting to take it out on us. Nah, I've got some things in the works, some opportunities that'll get me out of here pretty soon."

Brent took their orders and headed off. Chuck turned to Sarah and asked, "I don't suppose he just confessed to stealing the flash drive, did he?"

"If he did, he's the worst thief I've ever met. Did he say anything interesting in the interview?"

"Not really. Been here two years, like he said. Grew up in the Midwest, went to school at UCSD, then dropped out after a year. Nothing too suspicious."

"We should keep an eye on him anyway." Sarah looked around. "The CIA are going to look into the guests here to see if anything jumps out that we don't know about. They're checking Blore too."

"You don't trust him?"

"Cops can be dirty. You never know."

"So what do we do for now?" Chuck asked.

"Just keep our eyes open."

Chuck looked around the room again. Rogers was on his cell phone again, the Japanese men were talking quietly, and Mrs. Armstrong appeared to be reading a book. "Not much to look at now."

"No, I guess not," Sarah replied, "I suppose we can take one dinner off from surveillance."

* * *

"Sarah?"

"Hmm?" They had just finished the dinner. Once again, Sarah's suggestion had been great, though Chuck still wasn't entirely what he'd eaten.

"Say you did get to pick your own back story. What would you be?"

"I've always gone with what the CIA came up with. It's always believable and easy to remember."

"Sure, if you're Sarah Jones. But what would Sarah Korhonen be?"

"You mean besides seriously considering legally changing her name to Jones? I don't know."

"Oh c'mon. What did you want to be when you were a kid. What was your dream job? It couldn't have been working in the food service industry."

"As a kid? I don't think I ever get it much thought."

"Really? Every kid has something they want to be when they grow up. For a while, I wanted to be a fireman. Then after my dad left, I wanted to be a private eye."

"Aha. Little Chuck trolling the mean streets of Los Angeles?"

"Usually accompanied by the sound of a lone trumpet playing in the distance, yes. So, you never had a dream job?"

"You're going to make me answer this, aren't you?"

"Yes. And don't use that 'you can't know anything about my past' excuse either. This isn't who you were, it's who you could have been."

Sarah sighed. "Alright, but this is embarrassing. But when I was a girl, I kind of wanted to be…Paula Abdul."

Chuck raised an eyebrow in response. "You mean the singing Paula Abdul, not the judging one?"

"Yeah, I know, silly. I think it had to do with that video where she was dancing with the animated cat."

"'Opposites Attract.'" Chuck said with a smile.

"Right. So, clearly not useful for a CIA back story."

"I don't know. Maybe you could have been a veterinarian who secretly dances with her cat at night, and I'm the tough, dog-loving man who's new in town. Or better yet, you could have been working on a cruise ship, where you were doing your one-woman salute to late 80's pop, and I'm a guest on the ship."

"You wouldn't be making fun of me now, _Charles_?"

"No, not at all," Chuck replied with a straight face. "When the cruise ends, you tell me that you're actually Australian and want to live in the US but don't have a green card. So you and I get married so you can stay in the country."

"That's your back story?"

"Got anything better?" Chuck challenged.

"Ok, how about this," Sarah leaned in. "I'm your long-lost childhood sweetheart who you haven't seen in years. You've grown up to become this magazine columnist…"

"Which magazine?"

"I don't know, probably some fashion magazine."

"Not an electronics magazine? Or sports even? Couldn't you give me some masculinity in this back story?"

"Alright, fine. You're the _man's man_ fashion writer. Adored by all the ladies in the office."

"Ok, getting better."

"And I'm brought in as your new editor, and we disagree on everything."

"And I'm guessing sparks fly in this scenario."

"Like the Fourth of July."

"I don't know. I'm still struggling with the idea of Charles Carmichael, fashion writer."

"Well, we are taking some dramatic license here."

"You know, it's suddenly occurring to me that we let Ellie pick the movie too often on our double dates."

Sarah nodded. "You may have a point there."

"And as…interesting as these other stories are, they kind of pale in comparison to the real thing."

"Sure, but I don't think anybody would believe that one."

"No." Chuck knew he struggled with it himself quite often.

"Well, shall we go?"

"Back to the case?"

"In a bit. Why don't we take a walk outside first?"

"Ok." They stood up, and walked out of the dining room. As they headed through the lobby, Chuck said, "Hey, what do you think Casey wanted to be when he was a kid?"

_A/N: Chapters 8 and 9 were originally supposed to be one, but it went on for a bit longer than anticipated so I split it into two pieces. I probably won't be able to update in the next week or so, so hopefully "2 for the price of 1" will tide everyone over (and give plenty of time to review)!  
_


	10. Chapter 10

_I do not own "Chuck." How do I know this? Years of advertising have tought us that we are what we own. Therefore, if I owned "Chuck" I would actually be Chuck. Which would mean that this story would be an autobiography. And there's no genre category for autobiography on this site. Ergo, I don't own "Chuck."_

Chapter 10

Chuck and Sarah walked through the bay doors at the side of the hotel lobby and out in to the night. A few steps later, and they found themselves reaching the sandy beach. As a native Californian, Chuck had seen his fair share of beaches and sunsets, but this one seemed different. He was sure it was because of the woman beside him.

The February air felt cool around them. Chuck put his arms around Sarah's shoulder, and after a second, she leaned into him.

A few moments later, she said, "I think that should do it."

"Do what?"

"I think our cover is back to normal."

Chuck stiffened and released her. "So, that's what tonight was? For the cover?"

Sarah studied him intently. A couple of times, she appeared to be about to respond, but stopped. Finally, she said, "Our cover is important, Chuck."

"I know that, Sarah. Geez, after everything the last couple of years, don't you think I know how important it is? It's just… It seems like we have these…moments, and then you pull back. It happened when we were in that house in the suburbs, and now you're doing it again. It's almost like you're doing it to… Well, you're supposed to protect me from torture, but it's like that's what you're doing to me now."

"Chuck, you know that's not…"

"Well it is. I just wish you'd pick hot or cold, and stick with it."

Sarah looked down. "I'm sorry, Chuck. It's just, our situation is so complicated, and we can't…"

"Believe me, I know that. Nobody appreciates 'complicated' more than I do. So if you want to focus on our cover, then I'm with you. It will be 100% Carmichael, 0% Bartowski. Just as long as you do the same. I'm not sure I can handle it if any Sarah Walker slips out."

Sarah stood there for a bit, before nodding. "Ok."

"So now what?" Chuck asked after a few moments.

"I need to go upstairs and find out if we've been sent any more information about the other guests here."

"Alright. I guess I'll Carmichael it up inside."

* * *

As he headed back into the hotel, Chuck's mind drifted back to his dinner with Sarah. It was frustrating enough that he couldn't tell whether she had been herself or the agent manipulating him into reestablishing their cover then. His struggles to accept their current situation was what was really irking him. He could be so weak sometimes.

He found himself heading to the hotel bar. Other than the bartender, the only person there was Alex Rogers. His broad shoulders were slumped, and he was staring down at his drink. He didn't look up when Chuck entered.

"Can I get you something?" the bartender asked Chuck. Deciding he didn't want a repeat of the previous night, Chuck asked for a Coke.

"So you're going to let me be the local drunk tonight?" Chuck turned to Rogers. He was still staring at the glass, and other than the question, hadn't acknowledged Chuck's presence at all.

"Well, you know, you start one fire, you've started them all."

"Heh." Rogers finally looked up, and stared at Chuck for a moment. He was a bit unsteady on the barstool, so Chuck guessed that the drink in his hand wasn't his first.

"So, did you do it?" Rogers asked.

"No. You?"

"Depends on who you ask. You ask me, I'll tell you no. But you go to ',' it'll tell you right in big letters, 'Badboy QB Rogers involved in murder investigation.' Is that fair?"

"Well, technically…"

"Oh, sure, _technically_. But you know what something like that will do to me? And how do they even know about this? There's even a picture of me at this hotel on that site."

Chuck had to admit that Rogers had a point. Blore had managed to keep all press off the island, which we was thankful for. Any pictures would be awkward for him too, since Ellie thought he was currently in Reno. He guessed there were ways for reporters to figure out who was staying here, but the photo was odd. Somebody must have leaked it onto the web site.

"It's probably Blore or one of his lackeys," Rogers grumbled. "And of course the internet loves to write about me. There's always somebody looking through my trash." He turned back to Chuck. "Can you imagine what it's like knowing that people are watching you all the time, seeing everything you're doing, knowing everything you do will be analyzed and judged over and over?"

"I, uh, imagine it must be rough."

"Hmph. Rough. No kidding."

Chuck took another sip of his Coke. "So, who do you think did it?"

Rogers finished his drink, and waved at the bartender. "Don't know, don't care." Then after a moment, "Probably one of the Japs."

Chuck nodded, and dropped a bill on the bar. "Interesting," he said before walking away.

He supposed he should feel bad for Rogers. He was probably right that this wouldn't help his career. Still, while they both lived under a fishbowl, at least Rogers got paid handsomely for it.

Intent on his thoughts, Chuck didn't notice the hand come out from behind the wall as he was leaving the bar, and he nearly jumped through the roof when the hand grabbed his shoulder.

* * *

Sarah headed back down the stairs after finishing were call with the CIA. Sarah Carmichael's maiden name had been changed in all of the relevant records, and they had given her some additional information on the other people at the hotel. However, her brain was currently focused on her earlier conversation with Chuck.

She hated that she was treating him this way, but she knew she didn't have an alternative. Beckman had told her that he was in even graver danger now that he had two intersects stuck in his head. So as nice as it would be to let her guard down, it just wasn't safe. There were too many bad people out there, and Chuck couldn't face them down himself. So, as much as it hurted him, she had to turn away.

What troubled her, though, was how much it hurted her too.

She was about to go looking for him when she heard a voice behind say, "Mrs. Carmichael?"

Sarah turned around to see Officer Blore standing in front of the front desk. He was wearing khaki slacks and a white shirt, suggesting that he was currently off duty. The look on his face said otherwise, though.

"Yes, Officer?"

"I was hoping I could trouble you with a couple more questions."

"Oh, ok." Blore motioned her to a bench near the entrance, and they sat down.

"Mrs. Carmichael, I understand that you were up a bit late last night."

"Oh." Sarah had figured that Blore was going to bring up what Agato had said. "Yes, I suppose I was."

"May I ask what you were doing?"

Sarah shrugged. "Well, my husband had gone to bed early, but I wasn't really tired. So I just went for a walk."

"Alone? Is that really safe?"

Sarah ignored her amusement at Blore's concern for her safety. "Well, I stayed inside instead of going out in the dark. But I suppose had I known there was a murderer here, I would have stayed in my room instead."

"And you didn't think to mention this in our earlier interview?"

"Well no. I didn't see anything, so it didn't seem important. Had I seen somebody running around with a knife, I'm sure I would have let you know." Blore frowned, and Sarah realized maybe she should have left out the sarcasm. Her conversation with Chuck was still bothering her, she guessed.

"So I trust you won't be wandering about by yourself tonight, Mrs. Carmichael?"

"No, I think my husband and I will spend a quiet evening together."

"Of course." Blore looked around. "But you're not with him now, I see."

"No, I just went up to my room to freshen up after dinner. I'm meeting him down here."

"Well, I do wish you'd keep these solo trips to a minimum, Mrs. Carmichael. As you said, there is a murderer here." Blore stood up, and nodded at Sarah. "Thank you for your time."

* * *

Chuck instinctively raised his hands to cover his face, but nothing happened other than the sound of a dry chuckle.

"A little jumpy, aren't you Charles?"

Chuck moved his hands aside to see the amused face of Nancy Lombard staring at him.

"Well there is a crazed murderer wandering around, you know," Chuck brushed some imaginary dust off his shirt in an attempt to appear nonchalant about his current position.

"So, is Rogers the guy? I saw you talking to him in there."

"He's drunk and bitter, but he's not a murderer as far as I can tell. I didn't get much out of him, though. I guess I'm not much of an investigator. How about you?"

"I don't think I'm doing much better. I talked with Strassburg's widow a bit, but she didn't seem to know anything. And I tried to chat up Mrs. Armstrong a bit."

"How'd that work?"

"She 'hmph'ed me and I think she called me common. Other than that, she was delightful."

"So we're not getting anywhere, are we?"

"Well, I was thinking, what about Marston?"

"The owner?"

"Sure. This place is almost empty. He must be having money problems."

Chuck knew that Nancy was right about this, but couldn't tell her that. "So what if he is?"

"Well, maybe that guy Strassburg is a bookie or a loan shark or something. Marston might have reason to kill him."

"I don't know. It seems a bit far-fetched."

"Maybe. But do you have any better theories?"

"Not really." At least that he could share with her. And while he knew that Strassburg wasn't a bookie or a loan shark, she was right that Marston was a suspect. Strassburg could have come here just to meet with him, which meant that Marston could have the flash drive.

"Ok. So how do we find that out?"

"I don't know. Neither of us seems to be a master interrogator, and any evidence would be locked up in his office."

Chuck considered what Nancy was saying. She might be right about Marston. Sarah had told him that it was easy to fix a key card so that it could be used to open any door. He would probably just need to get on the computer by the front desk. And if the flash drive was in there…

"Well, I could probably get us in there."

"Are you sure?" Nancy asked. "It sounds awfully difficult."

"Trust me. I'm a computer guy, right?"

"I thought you ran the company?"

"Well, I picked up a few skills. Believe it or not I used to be a Nerd Herder."

"Really? It's hard to picture you in those white shirts."

"Yeah well, things change I guess. But I think I can get us a key card that'll let us in his office. I just need some time."

Nancy thought about it. "Ok. I have complete confidence in you, partner. But if this doesn't work, I'm going to have to resort to grilling Mrs. Armstrong again."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Hey, I'll just have to tell her I'm secretly the lost descendent of Czar Nicholas. Or maybe the cousin of the Duke of Wellington, twice removed."

Chuck raised his eyebrow. "You think that's going to work?"

"You're right. Once removed would be safer." She curtsied in front of him, and said, "Charmed, I'm sure."

Chuck bowed in response. "Still, just in case, maybe I should see what I can do about that key card."

Chuck wondered what he had gotten himself into as he headed back to his room.

_A/N: Sorry for the longer break between updates. I'll have the next chapter up in another day or so._


	11. Chapter 11

_I don't own "Chuck." And I'll post up all my relevant financial records to prove it. _

_On second thought, maybe not._

Chapter 11

Slightly concerned about a repeat of the previous night, Sarah walked into the bar to see if she could find Chuck. She sighed in relief when she didn't see his curly head anywhere in the room. About to head back outside, she stopped when she saw Mrs. Strassburg seated alone at a table.

Sarah had received some information regarding Strassburg's wife from the CIA earlier in the evening. Born Ingrid Huber in 1975, she had grown up in Austria. She had worked as a flight attendant when she had met Strassburg six years ago. They had become engaged after six weeks, married after six months.

The quick engagement and her frequent traveling sounded suspicious to Sarah, but she had to admit it seemed unlikely that Strassburg's own wife stole the flash drive. Still, in order to be thorough, she should at least talk to her. Perhaps she knew something about her husband's business.

As she approached, she saw the lines and heavy-lidded eyes on Ingrid Strassburg's face. Her grief appeared completely genuine. This wasn't something Sarah was used to deal with, and she wasn't exactly sure how to talk to her. After a brief moment, she realized she needed to think like someone more familiar with this type of a situation. Channeling her inner Ellie Bartowski, Sarah approached the table and sat down.

"Mrs. Strassburg?"

The woman looked up, a blank expression on her face.

"My name is Sarah Carmichael. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am, and if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

The other woman nodded. "Thank you," she said in accented English. "You are very kind." She looked around at the room, empty other than Rogers sitting at the bar. "Everybody has been avoiding me here. They think I killed him."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"No," the woman nodded. "It's what people think. When a man is killed, it must be the wife." She sighed. "Are you married?"

"Yes. I'm staying here with my husband, Charles."

"Then you must know how silly such thoughts are. But I am younger than Klaus, so people look at me like I married him for his money."

Sarah wanted to say, "You didn't?" but figured that wasn't the Ellie approach. Instead, she waited till the other woman continued.

"I loved Klaus, he was a wonderful man. Somebody else must have done this to him."

"Do you have any idea who it could have been, then?"

"Your police asked me this too. I don't know."

"Maybe somebody he worked with or something?"

"I don't know much about Klaus's business. I suppose it's possible. He traveled a lot, and I didn't always go with him. I was a stewardess for years, and travel tends to bore me."

"So he didn't always talk to you about what he did?"

Ingrid looked at Sarah a bit more closely. "You ask many questions."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok. I appreciate having someone to talk to. No, he didn't talk about business, and I wasn't that interested. Klaus and I found other ways to spend our time together."

"Oh." Sarah wondered if she was blushing from Ingrid's candor.

"Klaus loved me very much, no matter what these police say."

"What do you mean?"

"They say they found this love note that he had with him. But that means nothing. He was faithful to me. I know this as truth."

Sarah was a bit skeptical of Mrs. Strassburg's response. Chuck had said he'd seen the note mentioned in the police log. "I'm sure he was."

"Women, they see a rich man, maybe they approach him, follow him, send him notes. But that is all. He wouldn't touch them."

Sarah nodded, and watched Mrs. Strassburg stand up.

"Thank you for talking to me…"

"Sarah."

"Thank you Sarah."

After Ingrid left, Sarah walked out of the bar and into the hallway. She thought about Klaus Strassburg's questionable fidelity. In her experience, a man like him wasn't one to resist the temptations of women. And given his wealth, there would be a lot of women around him.

Sarah felt as if her thoughts were confirmed when she saw Nancy Lombard talking with the apparently wealthy man with her. After watching for a few moments, she headed back up to her room.

* * *

As Chuck headed up the stairs to his hotel room, he thought about what he had agreed to do. Sarah had been able to figure out how to get in Strassburg's room using a key card, so it was definitely possible. And he figured the necessary computer files would be easy enough to find. Still, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea, even if it would help with the investigation. At least with one of the investigations, and he wasn't really sure which one that would be.

He stuck his own card into his room door, and entered. He stopped when he saw Sarah standing there, arms enfolded. "Hey."

Sarah didn't respond.

"So, did you find anything suspicious?"

"You could say that."

"Oh, good. What did you find?"

Sarah turned around, and walked to the balcony. "You know, it's hard enough to keep our cover intact. It would help if we were both on the same side."

"Uh, Sarah, what do you mean?"

Sarah whirled around. "I saw you!"

"Saw me? Doing what?"

"You were…you were…eyebrowing her!"

"Um, Sarah, I'm not sure what that means."

"You know, this!" Sarah started wiggling her eyebrows feverishly. To Chuck, it looked like she was either trying to pop a contact lens out of was in the midst of a seizure. "To her! That Florence Nightmare of a nurse!"

It took a few moments before Chuck figured out what she meant. "You mean Nancy? We were just talking."

"No, no. You don't do your little eyebrow thing when you're just talking. What are people going to think?"

"What _would_ people think? It isn't going to mean anything to them."

"Ha!"

"Ha? Really? Ha?" Chuck found himself getting a bit heated as well. "You know, Sarah? If I didn't know better, I'd have to say you're jealous!"

"Oh please, Chuck. I'm _not_ jealous. This is about maintaining our cover. That's it. What are people going to think when they see you cheating on me?"

"Cheating? On you?" Chuck's eyes narrowed. "Do you mean Charles Carmichael cheating on Sarah Carmichael? Or do you mean me cheating on you?"

"Chuck, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't think I do know what you mean. Are you worried that the fake Charles Carmichael is breaking his fake marriage vows with his fake wife? Because you heard what Marston said. Couples fight here all the time. It's probably more suspicious that we keep making up every other meal. Or maybe that's not it, and you're worried that I'm cheating on my nonexistent relationship with you? Well, I'm not doing the first, and as for the second? So what, because you don't get to care if I was!"

"Chuck, you're confusing me."

"And you're confusing me!"

Sarah sighed, and seemed to relax. "Ok. Fine. I believe you. But what were you doing then. Still investigating her?"

Chuck debated for a moment, before decided that it would be best if he told the truth, at least in part. "We're working together."

"What?"

"We're working together to try and figure out who killed Strassburg."

Sarah calm demeanor left as quickly as it had arrived. "Chuck. Do I have to tell you how stupid that is?"

"It's ok. Why would she want to investigate Strassburg's murder if she actually did it?"

"Chuck. How many times do I have to tell you that you can't trust anybody? You should know that! How am I supposed to protect you when you keep going off on your own like this?"

"Hey, maybe I could actually protect myself for once."

"Chuck. I've been your handler for a year-and-a-half now. You and I both know you can't protect yourself."

Chuck felt wounded, though he knew she was probably right. "I've protected myself plenty of times. There was that one time... I've protected myself plenty of times! And it's not my fault that you don't care about who killed Strassburg. And I am still looking for the flash drive."

Sarah struggled to regain her composure again. "I understand you wanting to bring a killer to justice. But my priority is to protect you."

"Yeah, the helpless little kitten that I am."

"Oh, quit being melodramatic." Sarah paused before continuing. "Chuck, think about the kind of person that Strassburg was. Why is it so important that the person who killed him be caught?"

"Because it is. It doesn't matter who he was."

Sarah sighed. "Look. Somebody like him wouldn't hesitate a second to hurt you, or anybody else for that matter. What if he was threatening somebody, like Emily or your little friend Nancy?"

"But we don't know what happened. We can't assume. And if he was killed in cold blood it wouldn't matter who he was. The person who did it would just be a…killer." Chuck didn't realize what he had said until he heard her sharp intake of breath.

"You really believe that?" Sarah said coldly.

"Sarah, I…"

Chuck couldn't finish before Sarah stalked out of the room.

* * *

Chuck waited for Sarah to return, but finally gave up and went to bed. He wished he could take his words back. He hadn't meant to bring up Mauser, but it had slipped out in the heat of the argument. He knew why Sarah had killed him, and he had come to understand it as well. Still, deep inside, he felt that justice was justice, and Strassburg's killer getting away didn't seem right to him. Besides, it didn't seem like what had happened to Strassburg was the same as what happened with Mauser. If he was overdosed, that seemed like his murder was premeditated, and he knew Sarah hadn't planned to kill Mauser.

Finally, after a couple of hours, he heard the door open. After a few minutes, he heard soft footsteps coming toward the bed. Sarah quietly slipped under the covers at the opposite end. Chuck thought about trying to talk to her, but Sarah was lying so far on the edge of the bed that any movement would probably cause her to fall to the floor. Finally, after a few tense minutes, he fell asleep.

For the second time in two days, Chuck woke to the sound of knocking. He turned to see that Sarah had already crawled out of bed, and was heading to the door. "Emily?" he heard her say.

"Guys! Come quick!"

"What is it?" Chuck said as he stood up and headed to the door.

Emily was waving her arm frantically. "Come on! Hurry up! There's been another murder!"

_I was going to change the 2nd genre of this story from _angst_ to _humor_, but _angst_ has been made a comeback in the last two chapters. Still, don't count out _humor_ yet. And _adventure_ and _suspense_ can always be counted on in the home stretch. And as always, there's _western_, bringing up the rear._

_So everybody, place your bets! Then place your reviews._


	12. Chapter 12

_I don't own "Chuck." I thought I had, but it turns out I was the victim of an elaborate television program Ponzi scheme. Apparently, one of the earlier investors now owns "Suddenly Susan," though._

Chapter 12

Chuck didn't recognize the body when he and Sarah reached the lobby. The head was submerged in the fountain face down, leaving only a set of legs hanging over onto the floor. His stomach lurched slightly when he saw the reddish tinge of the water. One of the deputies was standing beside the fountain, while Blore was talking on his cell phone in the corner of the room. Chuck could sense his eyes on Sarah and him when they entered the room.

Emily had led Chuck and Sarah downstairs, and had now moved closer to the fountain. For a while, she just stared at the protruding legs. She knelt down to look closer, until the deputy approached to move her away from the body. "Omigod," she said quietly as she stepped back. "Omigod. It's Brent."

Chuck wasn't sure, but the dark hair in the pool did seem to match the waiter's. Out of uniform, the body was wearing jeans and a dark t-shirt. The body's height seemed to match Brent's as well.

"Emily." The girl turned around to see her father standing in front of the front desk. "Emily, honey."

The young girl turned away from the fountain and ran to her father, practically melting into his arms. Chuck thought that it was the first time the girl seemed her age.

"Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael," Blore approached. "If you wouldn't mind leaving the area clear right now I would appreciate it. I believe there is breakfast in the dining room."

* * *

The breakfast Blore mentioned was limited to coffee and a plate of bagels standing next to a toaster. Chuck didn't feel hungry, so he didn't mind the limited options. Sarah and Chuck were now seated at a table in the dining room, staring at the steam rising up from their coffee cups. No one else was in the dining room, leaving them in a tense, uninterrupted silence. Finally, Chuck sighed and spoke up.

"What does this mean?"

"What?" Sarah looked up, her expression unreadable.

"Brent? Could he have taken the flash drive?"

"It's possible, I guess. But if he did, then somebody else on this island wanted it as well."

"He said something last night, remember? That he had some things 'in the works'?"

"Yeah. He could have been hoping to sell the drive. But if he did, and he wasn't Strassburg's contact, then how did he know what the drive was?"

"Good question."

Sarah didn't respond to Chuck's comment. Based on her board-stiff posture, she still seemed upset from their fight the previous night. Chuck figured that she was only willing to talk business right now. "So this must mean that whoever killed him has the drive."

"That's my suspicion."

"And that person probably killed Strassburg."

Sarah didn't respond for a moment. "Maybe," she finally said. "Or Brent could have killed him."

Chuck thought for a moment. "How did he get into Strassburg's room to get the pills? He's a waiter, not a porter or a maid."

Sarah shrugged. "He could have been working with someone else working here."

"Who then killed him?"

"Possible." Sarah took a sip of her coffee. "Did you hear anything during the interviews about anybody else on the staff? Or Brent?"

Chuck shook his head. "There wasn't much. There are two maids, each of whom has been here for at least ten years. The porter's old enough to remember when Marston's grandfather ran the place, and has a bum knee he spent most of the interview griping about."

"None of them really jump out as likely candidates. And Brent himself?"

"Grew up in Oregon. Dropped out of college four years ago, and moved down to California. Tried to make it as an actor for a couple of years, before he moved to San Diego and then got this job. He didn't really say much other than that. He didn't say why he dropped out or anything like that."

"Actually, from what my contact at the CIA told me, he was kicked out for cheating on a test."

"Heh. Small world."

Chuck thought he saw a brief smile sneak onto Sarah's face, before it quickly disappeared. "Everything else they told me matches what you heard."

"So nothing useful, then?"

"I wouldn't say that. I did a little more background on some of the other people here."

"Oh yeah?"

Sarah turned to see a man walk in to the dining room to replenish the coffee urn. Motioning to Chuck, she said, "C'mon, let's go for a walk."

* * *

The grounds outside the hotel were quiet, with only the distant crashing of waves interrupting the peace. Walking out into the sun lifted Chuck's mood somewhat, interrupting his thoughts from Brent's death and the fight from the previous night. Sarah walked silently ahead of Chuck, giving no sign that her mood had changed. Finally, they reached a bench in front of a flower bed and sat down. Chuck was about to speak, but Sarah removed a sheet of paper from her pocket.

"Here's what I got from the CIA yesterday. Officer David Blore, employed by the San Diego police department for 12 years. There have been three occasions where he has been given warnings for excessive force against suspects, but nothing further. He's never left the US, and there's no apparent connection between him and Strassburg."

"He couldn't have been on the island before Strassburg was killed."

"Probably not. Still, he could have taken the drive." Sarah's eyes remained on the printout. "Still, it sounds like he's just a career cop trying to rise through the ranks. There will probably be a lot of pressure for him to wrap up this case as soon as possible." She briefly looked up at the cloudless sky. "Blore's two deputies, Oliver and Beresford, are both new to the force, but there isn't anything suspicious in either of their backgrounds. Same with the medical examiner."

Sarah flipped the page over. "Here's what I got about the guests. Kaito Kurisuti, the Japanese interpreter, did spend some time in Germany before he worked in the UN. He actually traveled extensively throughout Europe after turning 18. It sounds like wild oats type stuff, but he did stay in Stuttgart for a while, which is where Strassburg is from. Could be coincidence, but it's a connection."

"Now his boss, Riku Agasa. There were stories circulating that he was a member of Yakuza in his younger days, but nothing concrete. Everything legitimate on record, but he's been hit quite a bit by the market this last year. So, he could be looking for quick ways to make some of that money."

"Like selling this flash drive?"

"Maybe."

"So what else you got?"

"Well, there's…" Sarah was interrupted by the sound of a raised voice. A moment later, Alex Rogers marched through the garden.

"You've got to get me out of here, man!" Chuck thought Rogers was talking to him before noticing the headset he was wearing.

"I command you, as my agent, Don! Just get me out of here. There's a serial killer, bumping us off one by one, and I'm going to be next! Send me a boat, a plane, whatever. I'll build a raft if I have to." He stopped when he saw Chuck and Sarah seated there. He looked at them for just a moment with a wild-eyed expression and then ran off.

"So…what about him?" Chuck asked for a few moments.

"My contact said he had to get most of his info on Rogers from the gossip magazines. The story is he has a substance abuse problem, and the team could release him if he doesn't kick the habit before the start of next season."

"Hmm. I'm thinking he isn't quite there yet."

"Nope." Emily had just walked out of the hotel, and Rogers had shrieked and ran away from her.

Sarah turned back to her printout. "Nancy Lombard. The circumstances of Anderson Hastings's death were investigated, but no evidence was discovered implicating her." Chuck noted her emphasis on the word evidence. "His children tried to contest the will, but failed."

"Finally, Mrs. Ellen Armstrong. Pretty boring life, wife of a banker. One interesting thing though. Some of the funds her ex-husband managed had several wealthy international investors. Two of them were Riku Agasa and Klaus Strassburg."

"It really is a small world."

"Yup."

"So that's all you found?"

"Well. I did find one other thing last night." Sarah opened her purse, stuck her hand inside, and produced a small plastic bag. Inside was a small orange-brown jar.

"Is that…?"

"Strassburg's medication. Or at least the jar that used to contain them."

"But where did you find it?"

"In a wastebasket in the first floor women's bathroom."

Chuck thought for a moment. "So the murderer is a woman?"

Sarah smirked for a moment. "I wouldn't assume that. Someone willing to kill somebody probably wouldn't be too concerned with going into the wrong bathroom."

"Fair enough. So you took it?"

"I wanted to see if there were any fingerprints on the jar. It might help lead us to the flash drive."

Chuck nodded. "And?"

"No fingerprints."

"So our murderer knows what she, or he, is doing."

"It looks like it."

"So now what are you going to do? Give it to the police?"

Sarah shook her head. "I don't want to raise his suspicions and have him asking more questions about us. I'll just put it back where I found it. I'm sure somebody will find it eventually."

Chuck didn't respond. They still didn't agree about the importance of the murder investigation. He decided it would be best not to press the point. He looked up after a moment, and saw Emily walking towards them. "Better put it away."

Sarah nodded and stuck the bag back in her purse. "You should go back to the room, and see if you can hear anything new about what's going on. I'll get rid of this."

* * *

Emily's face still bore the marks of her sadness. Chuck bent down and gave her a brief hug. "How are you, Emily?" he asked.

Emily made a face. "This place sucks."

"I know. I know. But we'll be safe. The police will catch whoever did this."

"You think?"

Sarah watched Chuck comfort the girl. It was amazing how easily he could comfort people and make them feel better. It was a nurturing quality that he shared with his sister. Yet another part of the Bartowski charm, she figured.

She hated to interrupt them, but knew that she had to get rid of the pill jar, and Chuck needed to get back to the surveillance. "Charles, honey, you should get back to the room. You look tired. I'm going to go get us some more coffee." Chuck looked up, and nodded.

After Chuck had left, Sarah was about to head back to the hotel, but noticed that Emily was still sitting there with her head in her hands. Hating to see her like that, Sarah sat back down. "So you and Brent were friends, huh?"

Emily nodded mutely. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"We used to hang out when I got lonely. He used to tell me funny stories, or I'd help him take pictures around the island. He was good at that, but he couldn't get the pictures onto his computer. He was totally hopeless with it."

"I know the feeling. My husband has to help me all the time."

"We could kind of relate, you know. We were the two people that didn't really want to be here. Now it's just me." Sarah saw a fresh batch of tears welling up in the younger girl's eyes, and awkwardly put a hand on her shoulder. Chuck is really much better at this, she thought.

"I'm sure you will make new friends."

"You've been here for two days, so you can't imagine what it's like. It gets really boring after a while."

"But you've got your father, right?"

"He's always busy. He's either talking to guests, talking with the staff, or on the phone. He barely notices me."

"I'm sure that's not true." Not sure how to handle the current situation, and knowing that she had to get back to the hotel, Sarah slowly stood up. Emily watched her, then got up as well. "You know that if you want to talk to Charles or I, you can just knock on our door."

"Yeah, but you're going to be leaving in a couple days too. Either that, or the murderer's going to kill you guys."

Sarah shook her head at the morbid thought. "We'll be safe, and so will you." Sarah looked back at Emily, who was following her back to the hotel.

"I guess." They walked in silence for a bit, before Emily spoke up again. "You know, you guys remind me of my parents."

Sarah was surprised by the statement. "I'm touched, Emily."

"It wasn't really a compliment. You're acting just like they did, just before the divorce."

Sarah stopped. Apparently, their cover couldn't even pass muster with an 11-year-old. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you seem to argue a lot, and you don't seem to talk to each other that much. And you're kind of bossy like my mom is."

Sarah decided to let that pass. "Emily, Charles and I aren't getting divorced."

"My parents told me that, too. Look, I can tell that he's totally hot for you."

Sarah gave her a look. "Is that so?" she challenged her.

Emily shrugged. "I see a lot of couples here who seem to have given up. I can see that he hasn't. Yet."

"And your parents? They didn't seem like they were…hot for each other?"

"Ew. Gross."

"Sorry." Sarah was relieved her job rarely led her into conversations with pre-teens.

"But no. I don't think they were."

They reached the doors to the hotel, and Sarah opened the door for Emily. As they strolled in, Sarah could see that the medical examiner had arrived, and several CSIs were milling about the lobby. The boat must have arrived from the mainland. Marston was talking to the porter by the front desk, and motioned for Emily to come to him. Sarah waved goodbye to her, and headed towards the hallway. Before she got past the fountain, she heard behind her, "I can tell."

"You can tell what, Emily."

"That you're still hot for him, too."


	13. Chapter 13

_Once again I tried to own "Chuck" but I didn't look closely at the fine print. Turns out I bought the long-lost 1980s version starring Adrian Zmed and Heather Thomas._

_Let that be a lesson to you. Always read the fine print. Otherwise, you could wind up with Adrian Zmed living on your couch._

Chapter 13

"So that's all you got, Doc?"

Chuck could hear the frustration in Blore's voice through the listening equipment. The medical examiner's description of his cursory examination of Brent's body had occasionally been punctuated by questions or comments from the officer. The doctor was still maintaining a somewhat casual attitude to the situation, which Blore clearly didn't share.

"Yeah, some sort of blunt instrument. Until the crime scene guys finish their search of the surrounding area, I can't give you a whole lot more. My guess from the angle of impact is that the waiter was seated by the fountain, and the killer struck him from behind.

"Would it have taken a lot of force?"

"Not a huge amount. Could have been a man or a woman, provided they're in good enough shape. Once I get the full autopsy done, I can tell you more." After a momentary pause, he added, "You know, we should probably set up an examining room here on the island. It would save time down the road."

"Just go and do your examination."

"Yeah, sure. By the way, I noticed a couple of helicopters flying above when he got here. You may be in for trouble soon."

"Damn it."

"Yeah well, I'll let you know what I find. I'll see you when you have the next body for me."

"That's really not funny, Ed."

Chuck heard the door close after the examiner left. He was glad he wasn't in Blore's shoes at the moment. Though, to be honest, he wasn't sure how good his own shoes were looking either. He still hoped that he could get a chance to talk to Sarah about the fight the prior night and he wanted to figure out how to get into Marston's office once Blore vacated it. He was beginning to share Blore's frustration about the case, and while he didn't exactly agree with Nancy's suspicions about the hotel owner, it was worth looking into.

* * *

A few moments later, the hotel room door opened and Sarah walked in. "Have a good woman-to-woman talk with Emily?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. She gave me a lot of advice."

Chuck looked at her questioningly but Sarah didn't explain. Instead, he asked, "Did you get rid of it?"

"Yup. Back in the women's bathroom where I found it. Did you hear anything useful?"

"Not much. Brent was hit in the back of the head with something, and it could have been done by just about anybody."

"Great."

"Yeah." Sarah sat down on a chair opposite the bed, and kept her eyes on the suitcase speakers.

"Oh, one other thing," Chuck said after a moment. "They said something about helicopters flying over. They didn't seem too happy about it."

Sarah grimaced. "Reporters."

"So the story must be out now."

"Two murders at an expensive resort, with a professional athlete as one of the suspects? There'll be more of them coming. We'll have to be careful."

"So no photo-ops or exclusive interviews. Got it."

"Chuck, please be serious. Do you want Ellie to see you on the six-o-clock news?"

Chuck had to admit, he'd probably be better off if the killer found him first. The combination of explaining to Ellie that he'd lied to her without explaining why he'd lied to her, not to mention her reaction to his sharing the vacation with a homicidal maniac, was something he wouldn't wish on the most devious Fulcrum agent.

His mental conversation was interrupted by a knocking sound coming from the receiver. "Come in," he heard Blore say, followed a moment later by, "What can I do for you, Mr. Marston?"

"I just thought I'd find those employment records you asked for." There was a metallic sliding sound, and Chuck guessed that Marston was looking through the filing cabinet. After a moment, a sound of triumph came through the suitcase.

"Here they are. Brent Pyne's paperwork."

"Thank you, Mr. Marston. Anything unusual that you can remember about when you hired him?"

"No. He didn't have much in the way of references, but what he gave me checked out."

"And he didn't give you any explanation when he talked to you last night?"

"Not really. Just gave his notice. I asked him what he was moving on to, and he just said he was set for the near future. Didn't ask what he meant by that."

"You weren't at all suspicious when he told you he was leaving?"

"I guess I should have been. I've never had any reason to suspect him of anything illegal. He wasn't the best waiter in the world. Some of our guests have complained about him in the past. But other than that, I've never see him do anything that would cause any concern. And he certainly doesn't seem like a killer."

"Well, I didn't think he was either when I interviewed him. And if he was a killer, he's not the only one on this island. Anything else you can give me?"

"No, afraid not." Chuck heard the sound of the filing cabinet drawer slam shut.

"Damn!"

"What is it?" Blore's voice asked.

"Somebody stuck some gum under the desk. Probably one of the staff, thinking they're getting back at me for something." After a pause, "Wait, this isn't gum. What is…" The voices from the receiver were suddenly replaced by a hissing sound.

"Well, that's not good." Chuck commented.

* * *

"I don't think there's a way for them to connect the bug to us," Sarah said a moment later.

"But we won't know what's going on any more. Can we plant another one?"

"No, they'll be more careful now, and we don't want to look suspicious by hanging around Marston's office. We've probably learned about everything we can from the investigation for now, anyway."

"So we're stuck in here for now?"

"Pretty much."

Chuck figured this would probably be a good opportunity to clear the air. "Sarah, can we talk about last night?"

Sarah studied him briefly. "Ok, Chuck. I guess that's probably a good idea."

"Sarah, I… I'm sorry about bringing up Mauser. I know you're not a cold-blooded killer. I mean I know you sometimes have to kill people, but I understand why it can be necessary." Chuck paused, carefully putting together his words. "But I guess I just am scared that…"

"Chuck, you know I am always going to be there to protect you."

"Not about that. Ok, about that sometimes. But I'm scared that you're being forced to become something you're not…because of me. I mean, you wouldn't have had to kill Mauser if it wasn't because of me."

Sarah took a moment before responding. "Chuck, the last thing you should ever feel is responsible for me or what I do. I am the person I am for a lot of reasons that happened long before I met you." She stood up from the chair and sat on the bed beside him. "I think y…this mission has changed me. But not in the way you're worried about." After a moment, she hastily added, "You've changed Casey too."

"Are you sure about that?" Chuck smiled briefly.

"You should have met him before. Look, Chuck, I appreciate your concern for me. I do. But you have to understand that there's a reason why I do this particular job. I'm afraid your opinion of me is a bit too high."

"Well, I think your opinion of you is a bit too low."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Sarah went to put the suitcase in the closet. She sat down on the bed again after returning. "It doesn't really matter anyway. My job is to protect you, and right now that's what I have to focus on. You have two intersects in your head now."

"Fat load of good they've done here. Not a single flash! They're probably too busy playing chess with each other in my head."

Another smile crossed Sarah's lips, but only for a second. "Whatever's going on in that head of yours, it's very valuable to Fulcrum. They want you even more now. And you know that anybody could be one of their agents."

Chuck, appreciating Sarah's not mentioning Jill's name, just nodded.

"This mission is very important, but beyond that we have to be careful. We've already been too conspicuous." Sarah raised a hand to stop Chuck from speaking. "I'm not saying that's your fault. This has been a difficult mission, and maintaining our cover has been nearly impossible. I just want you to remember that I'm working to keep you safe. I know you want to see justice done, especially since Strassburg isn't the only victim now. But protecting you takes priority over catching killers, and if it comes to it, it takes priority over retrieving that flash drive."

"But if it gets into the wrong hands…"

"We'll figure something out. But there are other agents that can help with that. The two of us completing this mission on this island may not be possible, and we may have to get away from here. And if I have to build a boat myself to do that, I will."

Chuck nodded. "Ok. Just let me know if you need me to build a radio out of a coconut."

* * *

Their conversation was interrupted by a knocking sound. Sarah and Chuck looked at each other, before Sarah headed to the door. After looking through the peephole, she frantically turned and said, "It's Blore! Quick, make sure that none of our equipment can be found!"

Chuck ran through the room, checking for any of their surveillance equipment or other spy paraphernalia.

"Officer? Can I help you?" Chuck heard Sarah say.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Carmichael, but I need to search your room."

"Our room, but why?" Chuck had finished checking through the rooms, and had made sure all of the cases with CIA equipment were out of sight. He returned to the living room to see Sarah standing in front of the partially opened door.

"We have reason to suspect you may be involved with the killings."

"That's ridiculous! Why would I be involved?"

"Then you'll let us have a look around?"

"Officer, you must understand. My husband brought along several papers relating to his business that are very important. Many of them have confidential information, so…"

"Mrs. Carmichael, I'm not really asking here." Blore's hand reached in, holding a piece of paper. "I have a warrant."

Chuck looked at Sarah anxiously, who nodded in return. "Ok, officer." Sarah opened the door, and Blore and the two deputies entered. They quickly began wandering through the room, systematically searching every corner.

"Why is it that you suspect Sarah of being involved with all of this?" Chuck asked. He and Sarah were seated on the room's couch, while Blore stood over them, arms enfolded.

"At the moment, it's best if I didn't say." Blore's unkempt hair and red eyes still betrayed his lack of sleep, but his anxious manner suggested that he was excited about the investigation. He clearly felt that the case was coming to an end. Chuck could understand his excitement, but couldn't figure why he suspected Sarah.

"Sir!" The call came from the bedroom. One of the deputies returned with one of Sarah's cases. Cursing himself for not finding a better hiding place, Chuck watched the deputy put the case on the table and open it. Blore leaned in to study the collection of knives inside. The other deputy also returned to the living room, carrying the case with the surveillance equipment.

"I see you don't like to pack light, Mrs. Carmichael." He reached into his pocket to retrieve a set of handcuffs. "I think we've seen enough. Mrs. Carmichael, you have the right to remain silent, anything you…"

Blore's words faded away, as the roar of panic hit Chuck's brain. He wanted to grab Sarah and make a run for it, but knew it would never work. There was no way to get off the island, and they couldn't avoid Blore if they were still on it..

"Charles. Chuck." Hearing his name returned Chuck to reality. Sarah was looking at him, her eyes pleading.

"It's ok. We'll get through this. Just call our lawyer."

"Our…lawyer?"

"Of course. From the offices of Beckman and Casey."

"Oh, right."

"Just be calm, and be safe. It's a misunderstanding, and everything will be cleared up."

Watching Blore and the deputies lead Sarah away, Chuck took little comfort in her words.


	14. Chapter 14

_So the other day I got a phone call from Ellie Bartowski. She starts complaining about how she's hardly ever in any of my stories, and when she is all of her scenes are with Morgan. I politely told her that I don't actually own "Chuck" and so there wasn't much I could do to help._

_She wasn't impressed by my explanation._

_So I told her that it could be worse. I told her I could have thrown in an Ellie/Morgan romantic subplot somewhere in this story._

_I'm told the bruises will heal in a few days._

Chapter 14

"She was what?"

General Beckman's annoyance reverberated through the suitcase's speakers. While Blore had confiscated Sarah's knives and the surveillance equipment, they hadn't found the case with the video screen. Once they had left, Chuck had quickly retrieved it, and after some fumbling about, had managed to figure out how to contact the General. Years of explaining how to connect electronic equipment to confused customers had finally paid off.

"Arrested, General. They think she killed Strassburg!"

"Did she?"

Chuck was shocked by the question. "Of course not!"

"I see. And the flash drive?"

"Still looking for it. But what about S…Agent Walker?"

"Agent Casey is just finishing up with his jury duty. He will be arriving on the island shortly. In the mean time, I would recommend staying in your hotel room where it's safe."

"That's not what I meant, General. Aren't you going to do something about Agent Walker?"

"I know what you meant, Mr. Bartowski. At the moment, my priorities are the safety of the intersect and the retrieval of the flash drive. Once we remove you from the island and get the drive back, perhaps we'll see what we can do about Agent Walker?"

"Perhaps?" Chuck was vaguely aware that his voice had gone up an octave. "You mean you might not even do anything?"

"Mr. Bartowski, I would suggest that you calm down. Walker has been a valuable agent for us, and losing her would be a problem. However, we have many considerations we have to weigh before we act to undermine local law enforcement. It would be best for us to let this play out for now."

"Let it play out? Are you kidding me?" Chuck ignored the General's scowl and continued. "Agent Walker has been more than just a valuable Agent for you, and you know it! She's sacrificed practically her entire adult life for this country, and now that she's in trouble you won't even lift a finger?"

"Mr. Bartowski!"

"How many enemy agents has she helped catch? I'm sure you think it's all fun and games out here, but maybe if you'd stick your head out of that cushy office once in a while…"

"Mr. Bartowski!! Be quiet!!" The General's eyes practically melted the monitor screen. "I suggest we continue this conversation at a later point, when you can act a little less like a hysterical schoolgirl. I suggest you remember who you're speaking to, and keep that in mind for our next conversation. Otherwise, you should take a good look out that window and memorize what outside looks like, because you won't be seeing it again for a while." Beckman's angry face disappeared from the screen.

Chuck sighed. He knew that his outburst hadn't helped Sarah, but he couldn't believe the General's attitude toward Sarah. Even Big Mike took a more positive attitude toward his employees.

Despite her threats, however, Chuck knew he couldn't just stay inside the room and wait for Casey. Sarah's fate might rest on his figuring out who the murderer was. He took his key card out from his pocket, and studied it for a moment, before standing up and heading out of the room.

* * *

Normally, Sarah loved boats. The various missions she'd been on throughout the world had given her plenty of opportunity to be out on the water. The smell of saltwater and the sound of splashing waves always quickened her pulse. However, this wasn't exactly ranking as her favorite ocean voyage.

She was seated in a small room, with her hands cuffed behind the chair. Officer Blore was seated behind in the room as well, keeping a careful eye on her. Sarah had tried to talk to him earlier to try to figure out why he had arrester her, but he had ignored her.

All of which left Sarah's thoughts on the island she'd left, or more specifically, on the man she'd left upon it. Unless Beckman could send Casey or another agent, Chuck was now alone without anyone to protect him. By leaving him vulnerable to an unknown killer, she had failed at her job.

Worse yet, she knew that Chuck would do everything he could to try to prove her innocence, putting himself at even greater risk. She had seen how strong his belief in justice had been before, and now that she was in the middle of it, there was no way he would back down. She knew him too well, and she had to admit that she admired him for it. She just wished he would cut it out.

And worse, he was probably going to look to that brunette nurse to help him. She dismissed the pang she felt at this thought as fear that she might be the killer.

A brief smile reached her lips as she realized the irony of her situation. Blore may not have nabbed the right killer, but he certainly did catch one. She knew the reason she was so angry at Chuck last night was because he was actually right. She had killed Mauser in cold blood. Whether it was part of her job or not, it was something she'd chosen to do. She always knew that she'd have to answer for some of the things she'd done in her past. Still, this seemed awfully early.

She wasn't quite ready to pay her debts yet, though. She had grabbed a pick from the hotel room before she had been cuffed. The pick was a CIA special issue, and could easily be used to unlock the cuffs. She just needed a moment of fidgeting so that it would fall from her sleeve. Unfortunately, Blore was watching her like a hawk, so the moment hadn't appeared.

Finally, her chance arrived. A ringing came from Blore's pocket, and he reached down to grab his phone. He slowly headed to the room's door, still eyeing Sarah. Finally, he opened the door and exited. Sarah immediately leaned over, and the pin dropped into her hand. As she was trying to work the lock, she could hear Blore's voice from outside.

"Yes Chief. I'm pretty sure she's the one. No, we have a witness. I think if I might be able to get a confession, but she seems like a tough customer."

Sarah smiled. He was right about that, at least, though she couldn't imagine who the witness was. Whoever had the drive must have recognized her and claimed to have seen her kill Brent. If that was true, that person probably assumed Chuck was working with her. She had to get back to the island.

She finished unlocking the cuffs, and quietly put them on the ground out of view. She stood up and moved just beyond the door. A moment later, he heard footsteps approaching the door and tensed.

The elbow hit Blore as soon as he opened the door, and Sarah quickly relieved him of his gun. She put her arm around his chest, with the gun aimed at his head. "Now," she growled, "we're going back to the island."

* * *

Chuck sat in the corner of the lobby, flipping through an out-of-date sports magazine. He was vaguely aware that he was only lingering on each page for a few moments, between which, he would look up to check the front desk.

The lobby was mostly empty now. All of the CSI's had returned to the mainland with Blore and Sarah. Now, only one deputy was standing watch by the front desk. Clearly, the San Diego Police Department believed they'd found their killer.

Chuck wasn't sure if it was the bad memories or the leftover crime tape, but most of the guests were avoiding the lobby. Mrs. Strassburg had come through earlier, and had carefully avoided looking at Chuck. He wasn't sure if it was because she suspected him of being Sarah's partner in crime, or just the painful association with her husband's death. Still, it wasn't only the widow who seemed to take pains in avoiding him. Even Nancy had quickly walked past him as she headed into the dining room.

Marston had stopped to talk to him, though only briefly. He informed Chuck that the boat would be returning in the afternoon to ferry anybody who wanted to leave the island. Marston's expression suggested he couldn't imagine why anybody wouldn't take him up on the offer. Still, Chuck wasn't even considering it.

He looked up at the desk again. The deputy had a bored expression on his face. He was probably disappointed that he was missing out on the interrogation. Chuck sighed. He knew Sarah could take care of herself. He just hoped he could forget about protecting long enough to do just that.

Chuck's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps. Rogers entered the lobby, looked around wildly, and approached the deputy. "You need to do something!"

"What is it, sir?"

"A boat. It's the press! They're coming after me!"

The deputy thought for a moment, then sighed. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. This is still a crime scene, so we don't need them wandering about." The deputy left his post and followed Rogers outside. Chuck looked up and saw that Nancy and Mrs. Armstrong had both come out from the dining room to check out the commotion. After a moment, Mrs. Armstrong lost interest and walked away. Chuck managed to make quick eye contact and get Nancy's attention. She didn't seem particularly anxious to talk to him.

"Charles? Uh, what is it?" she asked awkwardly after she had approached him.

Chuck nodded toward the front desk. She looked at him questioningly for a moment, and he finally mouthed the words "key card."

Nancy gave him a sympathetic look. Somewhat annoyed, Chuck said, "I thought you wanted to have a look in there."

"But…"

"Sarah is not the killer," Chuck said through clenched teeth. "I know her, and she didn't do this. So, that means somebody else is still out there. You said before that you thought Marston had something to do with this. Well, help me check his office. There could be something in there to help Sarah."

Nancy watched him for a moment, then looked around uneasily. "Ok. If you think you can get us in there."

Chuck walked up to the front desk, while Nancy stood behind to keep a look out. He flicked on the computer, and began clicking through directories. There wasn't much on the computer: anything personally related to Marston was probably elsewhere.

It didn't take long to find the files he was looking for. He placed his card in the scanner, and a couple of keystrokes later, he had the necessary access. He motioned for Nancy to follow him, and headed towards Marston's office.

"You sure you can get us in?" Chuck looked back and saw Nancy's nervous expression.

"Uh-huh. It was easy, really. I'm a computer guy, remember?"

"I thought you were just on the business end of computers."

"Well, yeah now." He smiled briefly at her. "Believe it or not, I used to be a Nerd Herder at a Buy More."

"One of those guys with the white shirts and ties that fix laptops? I never would have guessed."

"Surprising, huh? Well, it provided a lot of useful training." He slipped the key through, and the door opened. Making sure nobody was within view, Chuck and Nancy snuck inside Marston's office.

* * *

Sarah led Blore out the door, and through a short hallway. She pulled him along as she crept through the wallway, carefully keeping the gun aimed at his head.

"If this is your way of protesting your innocence, I'm not impressed," Blore grunted.

"You may not believe it, but I am innocent."

"If that's the case, then you're bluffing and this isn't going to work."

"I didn't say I've never killed anyone. I just didn't kill Strassburg, or Brent."

"You're obviously no schoolteacher," he commented. "Why do you want to go back there so badly?"

"I just have to." They had made it to the deck of the boat now, and Sarah could see the San Diego skyline approaching. In the corner of her eye, she could see two of Blore's fellow officers watching. "We're going back!" she yelled to them.

"Look, just calm down," Blore said. "We can work something out."

"Just turn the boat around, and everything will be fine." One of the officers had raised his gun, and Sarah could hear footsteps behind her. "I'll shoot!"

"You do it, and you're dead. Just drop the gun and we'll talk."

Sarah looked at Blore, before she caught herself and the raised the gun back to his head.

"You can't do it," she heard him say softly.

In the end, it was the image of Chuck's face in her mind that caused her to put down the gun. As much of an annoyance as he was, Blore wasn't like Mauser. He was a civil servant doing his job. If she killed him, she would just be realizing Chuck's, and to be honest with herself, her own fears. No matter how much danger Chuck was in, there had to be another way.

The gun was barely on the ground before the officers had grabbed her and subdued her once again. She raised her hands behind her head, hoping that just this once Chuck could follow instructions and stay safe.

_Sorry I've been slowing down on my update pace. But we're in the home stretch now! There should only be a few more chapters. So don't give up on me yet! However, if you want to take out your aggressions via review, please do so!_


	15. Chapter 15

_Since we've pretty safely established that I don't own "Chuck," I thought I'd list a few other things in this story that I also don't own._

_A yachtamaran – not even a small one_

_Any form of luggage with video screens or audio surveillance equipment_

_The slightest working knowledge of French cuisine_

_The rights to the domain ""_

_An educational software company_

_Handcuffs (in case you were wondering)_

Chapter 15

"Find anything?"

Chuck was kneeling down on the floor of Marston's office, flipping through papers in his filing cabinet. At the same time, he was listening at the door for any sound of Marston or somebody else approaching.

He looked over at Nancy when she didn't respond. She was looking through his desk, and didn't seem to have heard him. Finally, she noticed his staring. "Hmm?"

"Find anything?"

"Oh. No."

Chuck looked at her. He could see that she was preoccupied. "Everything ok?"

"Just nervous. I'm not all that experienced in breaking and entering."

"We haven't broken anything yet. So we should be ok." She didn't smile. "Hey, it's going to be ok." He put a reassuring arm around her shoulder. Chuck felt strange being the brave one in a situation like this, but it helped ease his own fears. "No one's going to look for us here, and we're going to figure out who's doing this."

Nancy nodded briefly. "Maybe. But I'm getting off of this place as soon as that boat comes."

"Yachtamaran."

"Huh? Oh right, yachtamaran."

Chuck noticed that she was staring at the framed picture in the corner of Marston's desk. He recognized the picture from the interview; it was Marston and Emily from a few years back. "It's a nice picture."

"Yeah, I guess. I don't really have any pictures with my dad."

"No?"

"He left when I was born."

"Ah. I can kind of relate. My dad left my sister and me, too."

"So we're kindred rejects." Chuck smiled at Nancy's comment while he leafed through the various documents. Most of them were receipts from various transactions, and didn't seem to be of any use. Finally, he found a letter in the back of the drawer that caught his eye.

"Not sure how relevant it is, but it looks like Marston got rejected for a loan a couple of months ago. Sounds like he might be going under."

"Doesn't surprise me judging by the number of guests. So he's in need of money. It sounds like it could be a motive."

"Maybe, but I don't see what it has to do with Strassburg. If there's a connection…" Chuck stopped, as he heard the sound of footsteps increasing in volume. "Somebody's coming!" Seeing Nancy's fear, he said, "Hide under the desk! I'll see if I can head off whoever it is."

* * *

Sarah studied the blank wall in front of her. She knew that Blore, and likely most of the San Diego police department, were at the other side of that wall staring at her through a one-way mirror. After the incident on the boat, they hadn't taken any chances with her, so she had been led in wearing everything short of a Hannibal Lecter mask. At least the police station was close to the waterfront, so she only had to sit in the back of the police van for a short time. But now they were making her wait. The waste of time frustrated her, knowing it was keeping her from helping Chuck.

Finally, the door opened and Blore entered, accompanied by another, older man. The two men sat at the table in front of her.

"So. Sarah Korhonen Carmichael. You have some explaining to do. It is Korhonen, right? Because that was a bit odd. When we first checked your background, you were listed as being Sarah Jones before your marriage. But then, after your interview, when your _husband_ told me your name was Korhonen, we double-checked. And it turns out that all of those same records now said your name was Korhonen. Strange, huh?"

Well, the CIA had done their job. Unfortunately, she hadn't expected Blore to have been ahead of the game like that. She'd underestimated him.

"I think we have a lot of lies to sort through, don't we Sarah? There are inconsistencies with your background I'd like to clear up."

Sarah didn't respond. Blore eyed for a moment, before continuing.

"Now, then there's Strassburg. I was never able to find a connection between you two. But, judging by your collection of toys from back in the hotel, I think you might be a pro. So, my guess is somebody hired you to get rid of Strassburg." He leaned in to her. "How am I doing so far?"

Sarah smirked, but didn't respond. Blore nodded.

"Yeah, I think I'm doing pretty well. So now, I'm guessing that maybe you got a hold of Strassburg's medication. You were seen wandering the halls near his room the night he died. Somehow, you must have managed to get him to ingest a fatal dose. He's an older man, so I doubt it was too difficult for you. Simple enough. But that brings us to our waiter friend, Brent."

"Here's what I'm thinking. He saw you take care of Strassburg, and maybe put the screws to you. But of course he underestimated your capabilities, and it's bye bye Brent. All that was left was to dispose of the medication, but you slipped up there, and let somebody see you."

Sarah was tempted to ask who saw her, but kept quiet.

"So I think we've got you pretty well figured out. So maybe you'd want to let us in on who hired you. Let's just say it would be in your best interest."

Sarah smiled. Blore had put together quite a story, though presented with the same evidence, she wasn't sure that she would come up with something different.

Blore, apparently mistaking her smile, leaned back in his chair. After a moment, he pressed ahead. "Considering my offer, perhaps? Well do it quickly. Judging by your concern about going back to the island, there's something else there. Something that could really nail this case shut. And you'd better believe that we're gonna find it." He paused, watching her. "Maybe your 'husband' has something to tell us."

Sarah stayed quiet. While Blore's comment was intended to rattle her, she actually felt somewhat relieved. Sending the police to talk to Chuck would at least give him some extra protection, though she wasn't sure they would be a match for the murderer.

"He's something I haven't quite figured out. He doesn't seem to be a pro like you, and from what I've seen of the two of you together, you're clearly not married. My guess is he's some chump you grabbed hold of to help you set up your cover. Probably jumped at the chance to go on a vacation with a pretty girl like you, never realizing what you really are."

Sarah must have flinched, based on Blore's reaction.

"Yeah, that must be it. But he's not much of a liar, so he could screw everything up for you, couldn't he? Well, he's in nearly as much trouble as you are, now. We can bring him in as an accessory, you know."

"He has nothing to do with this," Sarah said hoarsely.

"Hit a nerve, maybe? Well, we'll pick him up as soon as he returns this afternoon. Then I'm sure he'll help us sort things out."

Sarah cursed to herself. The idea of Chuck being arrested was bad enough. And now they weren't going to go back to the island to bring him back to safety? This afternoon could be too late.

* * *

Chuck looked around the office to try to find something that could be used as a weapon. The best he could find was some sort of trophy standing on top of the filing cabinet. He grabbed it, checked to make sure that Nancy was safely under the desk, and opened the door.

Emily was standing in front of the doorway. At the sight of him, she put her hands on her hips and frowned.

"What are you doing in my dad's office? Are you stealing his 'Hotel of the Year' trophy?"

"What, no." Chuck looked down at the trophy, while struggling to think of an explanation.

"Then what were you doing in there? How did you even get in?"

"Uh, the door was open."

"It's never open. You need a card," Emily raised her hand, showing the key card she was holding. "Why were you in there?"

Chuck sighed. "I was looking for something to help Sarah. She didn't kill Brent, or Strassburg, and I was hoping to find something to prove it."

"And the trophy?"

"I thought you might be the murderer."

"Ah. It's about time somebody considered me to be a worthy suspect." Her eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute, do you think my dad is the murderer?"

"Well, uh no, I just figured the police might have left something that…"

"You do think he's the murderer! Look," Emily waggled her finger at him, "my dad may be a lot of things. But don't be telling me he's capable of killing somebody. And this is from somebody who's been punished by him for no reason a lot."

"Sorry, sorry! I'm just desperate to help Sarah."

"Ok, I get it. But you're wrong about him. So how did you get in there anyway?"

"It wasn't hard. Let's go to the front desk so I can show you." Chuck said the last part in a louder tone of voice in hopes that Nancy could hear him.

"Um, ok. You know I'm little, not deaf." She followed him to the computer by the front desk. Chuck turned on the computer, and retraced his method for creating the universal key card. He positioned himself so that he could watch the hallway, and soon saw Nancy quietly heading back down the hall. He felt the relief come over him as soon as she'd disappeared from view. He didn't think that Emily was dangerous, of course, but the less explaining he'd have to do, the better.

"Neat!" Emily said after Chuck had finished his demonstration. "That could make staying here much more interesting."

"You're not going to use what I showed you to sneak in the guests' rooms and look through their things, are you?"

Emily raised her eyebrow. "Are you lecturing me about breaking and entering?"

"Well, no, I mean, you should really listen to your elders!"

"Yeah right." She pointed to the trophy that Chuck was still holding. "Hey, did you see a laptop while you were in there."

Chuck remembered seeing a small black case in the corner of the office. "Uh, yeah."

"Great. That's mine!" She walked back down the hall towards the office, slid her card into the door, and opened it.

Chuck followed, uncertainly. Once he'd entered, he saw Emily in the corner of the room reaching over to pick up the case. She saw his expression, and said, "Relax, it's mine."

"Is that why you were coming in here?"

"Yup." They headed out of the office and back towards the lobby. "It's my laptop. I'd loaned it to Brent, before, so he could try to upload some pictures. And then the police confiscated it when they went through his stuff. I'm glad they left it here. Mustn't have thought it was useful."

A thought occurred to Chuck. "Hey, can I have a look at what's on there?"

Emily paused. "You're planning to snoop through my stuff now?"

"Well, if Brent had it, there could be something important on there."

"Maybe. But we should probably go somewhere out of sight if we want to look at it. Follow me."

* * *

Sarah sat at the table, staring ahead while Blore quietly discussed something with the other man. Judging by his occasional glances in her direction, he probably figured he was about to break her. In truth, his interrogation technique had little to do with the turmoil she currently felt.

Chuck was still at the hotel, with only one inexperienced deputy to protect him until Beckman could send reinforcements. She figured the General would act quickly, but every minute was vital. And to make matters worse, she could have gotten back there, if she hadn't backed down on the boat.

She knew that Beckman and Casey would agree that she'd done the right thing, that impeding a police investigation and compromising her cover wasn't the solution. That didn't concern her. However, she knew that Chuck would say the same thing, and that did. In fact, it was the main reason she had surrendered the gun. Seeing herself through Chuck's eyes was something that made her feel like a person, a woman even, rather than a soldier or a spy. But it could get in the way sometimes, too.

She had to do something.

She looked up to see Blore staring at her. "So you have anything to tell us?"

Sarah considered the situation. Trusting him wasn't something she was comfortable with, but she didn't see that she had an option.

Sarah carefully glanced towards the other man. After a moment, Blore nodded. He whispered in the older man's ear, then gestured towards the door. Once the other man had left, Sarah said, "I'm only talking to you. Make sure the intercom is off."

"I don't think you're in a position to make demands."

"Do you want me to talk or don't you?"

Blore relented, and walked outside for a moment. When he returned, he said, "It's off. Now talk."

"(202) 555-9162."

"Excuse me?"

"Dial that number. Then say the word, 'salmon.'"

Blore glared at her. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Afraid not."

Blore stared for a moment, then pulled out his cell phone. A moment later, he repeated the word, and disconnected. "That it? Can we talk now?"

"Just wait."

"A moment later Blore's phone chirped. He picked up, and listened. Occasionally, he would say, "Uh huh," or "I see," but otherwise remained quiet. Finally, after a couple of minutes, he disconnected and looked at her.

"The CIA doesn't seem to be too happy with you."

"They'd rather we don't give out that number."

He nodded. "And you couldn't tell me who you are before?"

"I didn't know if I could trust you." I still don't, Sarah thought, but things are desperate.

"And I take it you were there on official business."

"Yes."

"And that's why you killed Strassburg."

"I didn't kill Strassburg. Somebody else on that island did, and that's who I need to find."

Blore sighed. "Now how am I going to explain this to the chief?"

"Tell them you're going over his head."

Blore was about to reply when his phone chirped again. He looked at Sarah questioningly, but she merely shrugged.

"Yes?" Blore answered. "You're sure? Found in an airport bathroom? Damn."

Sarah looked questioningly at Blore. Rather than explain, he said, "Yeah, we really do need to get back to that island."

* * *

Emily's room looked like a strange combination of what Chuck would expect of an ordinary eleven-year-old girl, and what Chuck would expect of an ordinary English professor. Most of the room was pink, and there was a large Tyler Martin poster on one wall, but the Martin poster hung next to a Picasso reprint. A bookshelf by the window was filled with everything from "Wuthering Heights" to "The Tipping Point," not to mention several Agatha Christie novels, all held up by several porcelain unicorns.

She put the laptop down on her desk, and quickly turned it on. "Darn."

"What is it?"

"I forget which password I used for his stuff. Hold on a second." She flipped the Tyler Martin poster around to reveal several rows of handwritten notes scrawled on the back.

"You hide stuff on the back of your poster?"

Emily shrugged. "My dad never looks back there. It's like a big diary." The studied the writing for a moment. "Oh that's right." She turned back to the computer. "Here goes."

Chuck leaned over to glance at the screen. "Image files."

"Yup. Like I said, he was big on taking pictures. I told him he should take pictures of the island, scenery and stuff. He seemed to like taking pictures of people instead. Don't know why."

She started flipping through the pictures. "Not very exciting. A whole bunch of that football player guy."

"Huh? Can you see if he's sent any emails?"

"Ah, sure." She clicked on the email icon, and flipped through the send items. "Yup, here's one with one of the pictures. Address: ."

"I think I see why he liked taking pictures of people. More lucrative."

"I guess." She clicked back to the directory of images. "Hold on, that's an interesting one."

"Is that?"

Chuck and Emily's attention was focused on the picture, that they didn't hear the door open.

"I think that picture is mine," a voice said from behind them.

_Awright, now that we have firmly established the cliffhanger, the next update will be...next March!_

_Just kidding. And thank you for everyone's who's been sticking to this story. The end is nigh..._


	16. Chapter 16

_If you're reading this, it must be March 2010! And boy, how crazy were those last few months? First I inherited all of NBC's shows, including 'Chuck.' And last month's marriage to Yvonne Strahovski, well that was something I'll never forget…_

_ Or, maybe I just posted a bit earlier than expected. Yeah, that's probably a bit more likely… _

Chapter 16

Chuck's stood there, his eyes refusing to stray from the gun that was currently aimed at his chest. His mind toyed with the idea of jumping through the window, ducking under the bed, just about anything. However, his legs wanted no part of the idea, and remained frozen in place.

Emily, meanwhile, seemed somewhat less concerned. She glanced at the gun briefly, then looked up at the person holding it, then to the photograph currently displayed on the screen of her laptop. Finally, she spoke.

"Nice wig."

There was a pause for a moment. Finally, Mrs. Armstrong said, "Thank you." She headed towards the laptop, moving with an agility that was inconsistent with her apparent age. Without lowering the gun, she pressed the delete key on the keyboard, and smiled. "So much for that. Now for the witnesses."

As she said this, she leaned in towards the two of them, and Chuck took a closer look at her face. He immediately felt the dull roar in his head. An image of a woman in a nun's habit flashed before him, followed by a woman dressed as a geisha, and old gypsy, and a teenage boy with a baseball cap hung low over his eyes. All had faces strikingly similar to Armstrong's, and all were standing over dead bodies.

After the flash, Chuck quickly looked up and stared at Mrs. Armstrong. "Ludmilla Zerkova! You're Fulcrum!"

Armstrong studied Chuck for a moment, before a smile slowly crept to her face. "Perhaps you're not quite the fool I thought you were. Clearly your wife isn't the only spook on the island."

"So you have the flash drive."

Zerkova reached into her side pocket, revealing a small black object. "You mean this? I assure that my bosses will put this to _very_ good use."

Emily's head was whirling back and forth from Zerkova to Chuck. "You killed Brent? But why, and who are you?" After a slight pause, "And Sarah's a spy?"

Chuck ignored her question to him, and just said, "Back away, Emily. She's very dangerous."

Zerkova turned to the girl. "Oh, your waiter friend was a bit of a nuisance for me. I hadn't figured that Armstrong would be nothing more than your run-of-the-mill doddering old woman. I had no idea she was such a pain in the neck that the wait staff ran at the sight of her. Your pal Brent remembered her well to recognize the difference between me and her. So he followed me around and caught at a very inopportune moment."

Chuck thought about the picture that Zerkova had just deleted. It was of a much younger woman wearing the clothes Mrs. Armstrong had worn yesterday. In her hand, the woman in the picture was holding the blue-gray wig that Zerkova was currently wearing.

"Of course, after that, the fool tried to blackmail me, and I couldn't have that. So, I found the right opportunity to make sure he was out of the way. One slug to the back of the head and he was out of my way."

"You witch!" Emily said, but Zerkova only smiled at her.

"And Strassburg?" Chuck asked. "You killed him because you didn't want to pay him?"

Zerkova gave Chuck a surprised look. "Well I wasn't planning on paying him, of course, but I assume I have your partner to thank for getting him out of the way. I'm surprised she didn't search him thoroughly. The idiot had it right in his pocket." She waved the drive in front of him, before returning it to her pocket. "Strassburg wasn't my way of doing things. It brought the police, and they shut down my escape route. I've had to wait around for them to arrest somebody."

"Sarah didn't kill him."

Zerkova shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But that idiot policeman suspected her, and when I saw the bottle of pills in the bathroom, I figured I could help hurry things along."

"You framed her!" Chuck said angrily.

"I think you're missing the gravity of your current situation," Zerkova responded. "Now that you both know who I am," she turned back to Chuck and Emily, "there's no reason to keep you alive."

* * *

"You'd kill a little girl?" Emily said in a shocked voice. "What kind of sick person are you?"

"Don't taunt the person with the gun." Chuck said through the said of his mouth. He looked around, trying to keep ahead of the panic washing over him.

"Wait, wait!" he finally said.

"And why would I do that?" Zerkova said with a smirk.

"Because you only got rid of the file on the computer, we still have the file on the camera itself."

Zerkova's eyes narrowed. "I can find that myself, _after_ I kill you."

"It, uh, seems to me you're a bit pressed for time now. You sure you want to stick around to find it?"

"Alright, fine. Get it for me!" She waved the gun at Chuck.

"If I do, would you let Emily go?"

"Charles, don't!" Emily protested.

Zerkova snorted. "I don't think you're in a position to ask for anything."

Looking over at Emily gave Chuck just enough confidence to press on. "I don't know, if anybody finds you with two dead bodies ransacking a little girl's room, it could be pretty awkward."

Zerkova looked around at the room for a moment. "Alright, why not! Just give me that camera!"

Chuck looked at Emily. "As soon as you can, run," he instructed her. The girl looked like she was about to protest, but then nodded.

Chuck walked slowly over to the bookshelf. There was a chest of drawers underneath, and he reach over to open the top drawer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zerkova move closer.

Seeing his opportunity, Chuck grabbed one of the porcelain unicorns, and thrust it at Zerkova. The figure's horn scraped Zerkova's arm, briefly causing her to shift forward and move the gun slightly away from them. "Emily, now!"

The girl quickly ran behind Zerkova, and raced out the door. The Fulcrum agent was about to turn around to shoot at the girl, but Chuck grabbed the wig and pulled it down in front of her face. With the agent temporarily blinded, Chuck reached into her pocket, grabbing the flash drive.

* * *

Chuck raced down the hallway, and soon found his way into the empty lobby. He hoped he could get out of the hotel, and maybe find a place to hide somewhere on the island. He briefly looked around for Emily, but didn't see a sign of her. He sighed in relief; figuring she must have reached safety.

A sound from behind interrupted his thoughts. Zerkova was behind him, a smirk on her face. Chuck ducked behind the front desk, just as she was aiming the gun. Desperately, he grabbed the first thing he could find. He slung the mouse from the front desk computer towards her. The mouse hit her on the side of the face, again causing her to lower the gun.

Chuck jumped over the desk, and knocked Zerkova over. He tried to throw a quick punch, but unfortunately his fighting skills were lacking and he only managed to graze her. Fortunately, the hit pushed the wig aside again, and he grabbed for the gun while she was temporarily blinded. Unable to get a firm grip on it, the gun skidded across the floor.

Before he could figure out what to do about Zerkova, he felt a pair of strong arms grabbing him, and push him to the ground. Surprised, he looked up and saw the determined face of Alex Rogers. The quarterback reached over, and put his hands around Chuck's neck.

"What…are…you…doing?" Chuck gasped.

"How can you attack an old woman like that? You're as sick as your wife!"

"Not…really…understanding…the…situation." Chuck attempted to explain. He tried to wriggle free, but Rogers was an athlete, and easily had Chuck overpowered.

"Get help!" Rogers yelled at Zerkova. "I've got him!"

"Man, why can't there be reporters around at a time like this?" Rogers grumbled to himself. "Sure, they're all over the place when you are out with a drunk nineteen-year-old, but when you're heroically saving the life of an old woman? Nothing." Rogers looked back at Zerkova, who was still standing there. "Lady, you're going to have to go get that deputy! I've got him under control for now. Just go get him! And if you see anybody from the press, get them too!"

"I'd rather not," Zerkova said drily, as she aimed the gun and shot Rogers in the chest.

* * *

"What did you do that for?" Chuck asked breathlessly, looking at the still figure of Rogers lying beside him.

"I'd rather not have him dragging the police here, keeping me on this godforsaken island." She turned back to Chuck. "Besides, he ruined my fantasy football team last year."

"Fulcrum has a fantasy football league?"

Zerkova shrugged. "Just the one time. All the other owners managed to get arrested or killed, or cheated a lot." She aimed her gun at Chuck again. "Now, if you please, give me the drive."

Zerkova was blocking the hotel's entry doors, so Chuck backed his way toward the front desk. "Alright," he said, not seeing a way out. He showed her the drive, and moved forward. Then he quickly tossed the drive towards the corner of the room.

Zerkova briefly watched the drive flying across the room, then smiled and raised the gun. "Goodbye, Charles Carmichael."

Before she could hit the trigger, Chuck grabbed the trophy that had been left by the desk, and threw it at her head. The trophy struck Zerkova just over the eyes, and she fell to the floor. Chuck scampered across the room, and grabbed the gun.

Chuck sighed, feeling thankful that he'd forgotten Marston's trophy at the front desk and amazed that his aim had actually been on target. He was lucky, he knew, but he'd take lucky and breathing any day.

"Chuck!"

Chuck turned to see Sarah and Blore rushing into the hotel, along with Marston, Emily, and several police officers. Sarah turned to look at the crumpled heap of Zerkova on the floor, then looked back at him with a surprised look on his face. Blore, looking only slightly less surprised, directed the officers to secure the still unconscious Zerkova.

Once Zerkova was safely in handcuffs, Sarah grabbed Chuck, hugging him tightly. "You're ok!"

"Um, I was. You're kind of making it hard to breathe at the moment."

"Sorry." Sarah said as she released him. "I was worried."

"Well, the intersect is in tip-top shape."

"I was worried about _you_." Sarah gave him a penetrating look. "Though I assume it wasn't the intersect that decided to go investigating on his own."

"How could I say in the hotel room after they took you away? I had to do something. And look." He walked over to the corner of the lobby, and picked up the flash drive. "I got this." He handed it to Sarah.

"So that's the contact?" she said, looking over at the still form of Zerkova.

"Yup. Ludmilla Zerkova. Former actress, turned Fulcrum agent. And quite the expert with disguises, apparently."

Blore had returned and was studying Chuck. "So he's one of you too?" he asked Sarah.

"Yes."

Blore looked back at him uncertainly, before walking over to examine Roger's body. "What did you tell him?" Chuck whispered to Sarah.

"Only what I had to so he'd bring me back here. I thought I was too late." She looked back at Chuck. "I don't know what you did, but I'm impressed."

Chuck blushed slightly. "I'm glad you got here when you did. I doubt she'd have been down for long."

Blore returned to the two agents. "I gotta admit, I never would have suspected her. If I hadn't gotten that phone call…"

"Phone call?" Chuck asked.

"They found the real Mrs. Armstrong this morning," Sarah explained. "She'd been killed and her body was left at the Chicago airport. When they identified her and figured out where she was headed, they contacted Blore."

"Well I guess that wraps everything up." Blore turned to Sarah. "Sorry about that little misunderstanding this morning."

Sarah raised her eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"Well you have to admit, you were the one acting suspiciously. Would you have looked at her and identified her as the killer? And yet she cold-bloodedly killed three people on this island."

"Actually," Chuck coughed. "That's not entirely true."

_Yup, we ain't done yet! I hope everybody's still hanging on, and please review, review, away!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Not only do I not own 'Chuck', I actually just sold the naming rights to this story._

_So, I hope everybody enjoys the next chapter of "Stanley J. Anderson of Topeka, KS Vs the Island Getaway."_

Chapter 17

"I apologize for delaying everybody just a little bit longer," Officer Blore announced to the assembled audience. Everybody was seated in the hotel dining room, and Chuck could sense the anxiety around him. It had been a couple of hours since Ludmilla Zerkova had been taken into custody, and was now on her way to a Government holding facility. The word seemed to have gotten around that the danger was over, but everybody clearly had seen enough of Martinada Island.

"There are a few loose ends that still need to be cleared up about the incidents that have occurred here the last few days," Blore continued.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck could see Agasa quietly say something to Kurisuti, and Sarah quietly chuckled. Chuck turned to her questioningly. "I'll explain later," she whispered.

"However, I am going to be turning the floor over to an associate of mine for just a moment," Blore added. He turned to Chuck. "Mr. Carmichael?"

Chuck could tell from the slightly ironic pronunciation of the word 'associate' that Blore wasn't entirely comfortable with the arrangement. Luckily, Sarah had convinced him that this approach was a good idea. Chuck got the feeling that Blore was a bit frightened of Sarah.

Somewhat reluctantly, Chuck stood up and faced the group of anxious people watching him.

* * *

"I, uh, guess you're wondering why I've assembled you all here," Chuck began, a bit awkwardly. He swallowed anxiously, and reminded himself why he was there. He had spent the last couple of hours reviewing all of the interview recordings that Blore had reluctantly returned to him, and felt that he knew what he had to say. However, the prospect of actually saying it made Chuck feel like he had rabid butterflies flying around in his stomach.

He glanced around to see ten pairs of eyes staring at him. Blore stood beside him, his expression a combination of curiosity and annoyance. Behind him, his two deputies merely looked confused. Blore had apparently held up his agreement to not share any important details with them.

Chuck looked over to see Sarah seated at a table at the front of the dining room, her blue eyes offering confidence and support. It had taken a little convincing to get her to understand that he needed to do this, but once that was done, she had agreed to help him in any way she could. Some encouragement was all he could ask or hoper for from her.

Nancy sat at the table next to Sarah's. Her face seemed to betray none of the fear he had seen earlier in the morning, and now she just seemed curious. Mrs. Strassburg sat at another table, still looking somewhat sad but otherwise betraying nothing else. Agasa and Kurisuti sat at yet another table, both stoically looking ahead.

Marston and Emily sat at the last table. Chuck had convinced Blore and Marston that Emily should be there. Despite her ordeal earlier, she just seemed excited to be a part of the action. Marston looked tired, and clearly just wanted everybody to leave the island as soon as possible.

Chuck sighed, and continued. "For those of you that don't know me, my name is, uh, Charles Carmichael. I have been staying here the last few days with my wife," he nodded to Sarah. "Officer Blore asked me to speak because I was here earlier when Mrs. Armstrong was arrested for the murders that have occurred the last few days." Chuck, Sarah, and Blore had decided that it would be easier to keep Armstrong's real identity quiet.

"Before she was arrested, Mrs. Armstrong admitted to killing Brent, the waiter, and I saw her shoot Alex Rogers, one of the other guests here. But she claimed that she didn't kill Strassburg."

"But why should anyone believe her?" Mrs. Strassburg spoke up in her German accent. "She is obviously a killer."

"Oh, uh…" The German woman's question had surprised Chuck, and he looked around uncomfortably.

"Well, what good would it do for her to lie?" Emily suddenly spoke up. "She was already on the hook for killing Brent. She'd probably be thrilled to take the credit!" Marston finally shushed his daughter, but Chuck felt a bit better after her outburst.

"I wasn't sure myself," Chuck continued, "but then I thought about it some more. What if she was telling the truth?"

"So I thought of everybody else who was here. There was my wife and I, Alex Rogers, Mrs. Strassburg, Nancy Lombard, and the two Japanese gentlemen, Mr. Agasa and Mr. Kurisuti. Also, there was the owner, Kyle Marston, his daughter, and all of the members of the hotel staff." Chuck avoided looking at each of the suspects as he listed them off, instead looking at Sarah.

"The police eliminated the hotel staff quickly. They had all been here for years, and none had any connection with Strassburg. Marston himself didn't have much of a connection either, though he has been having some financial difficulties." Marston looked down as Chuck said this, while Emily frowned.

"The two Japanese gentlemen," Chuck nodded at Kurisuti and Agasa, "arrived at the hotel later than the other guests, though not necessarily too late to kill Strassburg. Mr. Agasa was involved in business with Strassburg, but only as co-investors. He seemed to have no reason to kill him. Both have been very mysterious about their reason for coming to the US, though." Kurisuti whispered the translation to Agasa, who merely smiled mysteriously. Chuck tried not to dwell on what Sarah said about the possible Yakuza connection, and instead pushed himself to go on.

"Alex Rogers could have killed Strassburg before he himself was killed, but other than having a couple of teammates that played in Germany, he had no connection. Nancy Lombard had inherited millions from a man who had been in her care." Nancy gave him a look as he said this. "There had been some suspicion about his death, but nothing came of it. And there was no clear connection to Strassburg."

"How do you know all this?" Nancy asked him.

"Well, Officer Blore has been quite cooperative with me. And I have been conducting my own investigation as well."

"On me?"

"On everybody," Chuck said, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Then we come to Mr. Strassburg's wife."

"Mrs. Strassburg," Chuck asked the widow, "did you know that your husband was found carrying a love letter?"

The German woman's eyes narrowed. "I was told this, but it was of no importance. Women chased Klaus all the time."

"But he kept this letter, so it must have meant something to him."

"You lie!" the woman looked at Chuck with open hostility.

"I'm, uh, just pointing out what was found." Chuck looked back again at Sarah for support, and she nodded.

"My husband was rich. Someone could have stolen from him." She pointed to Marston. "You said he needed money. Maybe he killed him."

Blore spoke up before Marston or Emily was able to reply. "We found money in his wallet. If something was stolen from him, it wasn't money." It was something worth much more, Chuck thought, though he wasn't about to bring up the flash drive.

"No," Chuck said. "I don't think money was why Strassburg was killed." He turned to Blore. "You have the letter?" Blore nodded. "Would you mind reading part of it?"

Blore removed a clear plastic envelope from his jacket pocket. He raised it to his eye level and began to read. "_I know you don't want to see me, but I have to see you. You have to know what you have meant to my life. I just need to talk to you to make you understand_."

"It sounds pretty revealing to me," Chuck said. He was beginning to gain some measure of confidence now, and began to look at the various members of the audience as if they were his Nerd Herd staff. "So, whoever wrote this letter could have followed Strassburg here to meet him. And when rebuffed, could have killed him."

All eyes turned to Sarah and Nancy.

"I assure you, I've never slept with that man," Nancy argued, though Sarah kept quiet.

"Oh, I believe you," Chuck replied. "And I know my wife didn't either." Chuck thought he heard a snort from the audience. Feeling a bit annoyed by that, he pushed himself further.

* * *

"The funny thing about that letter is that it sounds like it's from somebody sleeping with Strassburg, but it never says so." Chuck could now sense that everyone was following his words closely, so he figured he could pause for dramatic effect. Finally, he heard somebody cough and figured he should continue.

He turned back to Mrs. Strassburg. "Did your husband ever tell you about a daughter?"

"No," Mrs. Strassburg said with some surprise. "I always have known he had a past, and it's very possible he had a daughter."

"So, if he does have a daughter, it's somebody whose life he never was a part of." He smiled at Sarah. "I've met my father-in-law, and while he wasn't the 'World's Greatest Dad' type, he was a part of her life." Sarah gave him a look, then smiled at him. Chuck took a second, and figured he was ready again.

Chuck turned to Nancy. "You told me you never knew your father."

Nancy gave Chuck a penetrating look. "No, I didn't. That doesn't mean anything."

"Maybe, maybe not." He paused, looking at the various eyes that were now glued to him in rapt attention. "Now, up until a few months ago, you worked as a nurse." After Nancy didn't respond, he continued. "You worked as a nurse for Anderson Hastings, who eventually left your money to you."

"Yes, and I everybody thinks that I killed him, I know! Is that what this is about? Because I would never have hurt him!"

"Actually, I believe you. But I do think that spending time with him made you think about the father you never had, and you used your newfound wealth to track him down. With your resources, it didn't take too long to find out he was a German businessman named Klaus Strassburg." Chuck paused for effect again. He really was starting to enjoy this. He risked another glance at Nancy, but she no longer had the friendly look from when he had first met her. Chuck looked away, but continued on.

"He refused to respond to your letters, and you finally figured out you could confront him while he was on vacation. You found out he was coming here, and figured this would be your chance to confront him in person. It's hard to avoid somebody in a place like this."

Chuck turned to Marston. "When did Nancy book her room?"

"A few months ago."

"Before or after the Strassburgs booked theirs?"

"Um, just after."

Chuck nodded, and turned back to Nancy. "So you got here, and you finally had the chance to meet your father. You met him up in his room when his wife wasn't around, and tried to talk to him. But he still wanted nothing to do with you."

"You couldn't believe that he could treat you and your mother before, and could still treat you like that now. You didn't want his money, of course, so I'm guessing you told him that you just wanted to get to know him. But it didn't matter."

"You decided to do something about it. When he wasn't looking, you found his high blood pressure medication. When you had your chance, you dropped enough of it into his wine to be fatal. You knew the right amount that would kill him, thanks to your training as a nurse."

Nancy stared at him. "You're insane! I know you're worried about your wife, but to make up stories like this…"

Chuck ignored the question, but continued to speak directly to Nancy. "I didn't find it weird at first how you seemed to change between Strassburg's death and Brent's. After Strassburg died, you didn't seem frightened at all. You were almost acting like the whole thing was a game. You even volunteered to help me with my own investigation. Maybe you wanted to see if there was any evidence against you, maybe it was just fun for me. Maybe you just wanted to hang out with me. I don't know." Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck saw Sarah frown, and he quickly moved on.

"But after Brent's death, you were really scared. You must have realized that there was an unknown killer on this island, and you could be in danger yourself."

Nancy looked around to see everybody watching her. "You know, you don't have any…"

"Yeah, proof, I know." Chuck interrupted. "When you were being interviewed by Officer Blore, you were asked if you had ever talked to Strassburg."

"She was," Blore stated. "And she said she hadn't."

"Right. She said that she was staying on the second floor and wouldn't have had a chance to see him." Chuck turned to Marston. "Do you make a habit of sharing the room numbers with other guests?"

"Are you kidding?" Emily responded before her father could speak. "He won't even tell me!"

Chuck smiled at the girl, before turning back to Nancy. "So, somehow you knew where Strassburg was staying, but there would be no reason for you to know this if you hadn't talked to him."

Nancy looked around, then quickly got up and headed towards the dining room's back door. However, she hadn't noticed that Sarah had moved away from her table earlier and was now stationed in the back. Before she could stop, Nancy ran right into Sarah's outstretched arm and fell to the ground. Immediately, the two deputies grabbed her, and dragged her over to Blore.

"You know, I wasn't sure I was even going to do it," Nancy said angrily to Chuck, as the deputies kept their grips on her. "I figured I'd just end up dropping the bottle somewhere, and move on. But then you started that stupid fire, and I couldn't resist the chance. When he left his table to see what was going on I just couldn't stop myself and I dropped the pills into his wine."

As Nancy was being taken away by the deputies, she gave Chuck one last glance. The look of cold hatred on her face forced Chuck to turn away. Instead he looked at Sarah, who was smiling at him. He nodded, and finally collapsed into a chair in the corner of the room. Chuck had found his justice after all, but not where he had expected to.


	18. Chapter 18

_Stanley J. Anderson of Topeka, KS wasn't a big fan of the last chapter, so we're back to "Chuck vs. the Island Getaway." But I still don't own 'Chuck' for those of you keeping score._

Chapter 18

"So you guys are like real spies? Like real James Bonds?" Emily was staring at both Chuck and Sarah in fascination.

The boat to the mainland was finally about to arrive, and everybody was standing by the front of the hotel watching the shoreline. The last of the excitement seemed to have faded from about everybody, with the exception of Emily. She was bouncing on her toes, and peppering the two of them with questions.

"Believe me Emily, I'm about as far off from James Bond as you can get." Other than maybe Jeff and Lester, Chuck thought to himself.

"Besides, he seems to think he's more like Sherlock Holmes anyway," Sarah commented drily. Chuck grinned sheepishly.

"So I guess Charles and Sarah Carmichael aren't your real names?" Emily asked.

"No," Chuck answered. "And you know I can't tell you our real names. I can just tell you that we were here undercover. To be honest, we aren't actually even married."

Emily muttered something under her breath. To Chuck it sounded like, "Not yet." Noting Sarah's expression, he guessed she had heard it too.

"If you'll excuse me, guys, I need to arrange a few things with Blore," Sarah walked off to the officer, who was directing a few of the CSIs that had just arrived from the mainland.

"So I guess things are going to be much quieter here now," Chuck commented.

"Yeah, boring again," Emily made a face. "But I'm going back to Seattle in a couple of days anyway. So, you ever kill anybody?"

"Emily!"

"Just asking." Emily's eyes suddenly focused on something behind Chuck. "I figure as much as I've been lied to, I should get the chance to ask. Whoa, who's that?"

Chuck turned around to look. "Oh. That's a, uh, co-worker of mine."

* * *

"So, I hear you beat up an old woman, B-er, Carmichael."

"Hello, Casey," Chuck responded to the other man. "Sorry you missed all the action. Jury duty must have been fun." He noticed the scowl on the older man, and added awkwardly, "But why wouldn't it, right? And she wasn't an old woman, she was 33!"

Casey's scowl grew larger. "You know, I leave you two alone for a couple of days, and all Hell breaks loose. The General is looking forward to having a few words with you." Taking no notice of Emily, Casey leaned in to Chuck to emphasize his words.

"Well things didn't go as smoothly as planned, and, uh, we had to improvise."

"Heh, it's a wonder the whole place didn't burn down, with you _improvising_ all the time." Chuck quickly looked away. "I've had to spend the last couple of days with morons like you, so save it. Some of us didn't get the chance to hang by the beach all day, probably drooling over Walker the whole time. I can't even imagine how you lucked out and actually finished the mission."

"Hey!"

Casey and Chuck both turned to look at Emily. The girl walked up to Casey, and poked him in the chest.

"I've heard enough out of you. _Agent_ Carmichael here caught two murderers today, _and_ he saved my life! I'm guessing he did all this while covering your sorry ass! I realize you're all old and decrepit and stuff, and probably can't think that quickly, but don't you think that maybe you should be congratulating him rather than throwing your weak insults at him, Gramps?"

Casey stared open-mouthed at Emily for a moment, then walked off muttering.

"I'm not sure that was such a good idea," Chuck said drily. "You're just going to make him even meaner." After a pause, "Thanks, though."

"Hey, like I said, you saved my life." Emily gave Chuck a quick hug. "I guess we aren't going to see each other again."

"You never know. Maybe I'll see you at the next murder."

* * *

Sarah finished her conversation with Blore, and turned to see Casey walking up to her. "So, I see Bartowski's got himself a new handler," he remarked.

"Hmm? Oh Emily, yeah she's a handful."

"So Beckman isn't all that thrilled with you or your boyfriend. That number you had your cop buddy call, that's for national emergencies only."

"I'd call it an emergency. I had to get back to Chuck. He was here all alone with a Fulcrum agent on the loose."

"Right." Casey looked back at Chuck. "So Bartowski really subdued a Fulcrum agent himself?"

"Yup." Sarah looked over Casey's shoulder to watch Chuck talking with Emily. He'd subdued Zerkova, exposed Nancy as Strassburg's killer, and saved the life of a little girl. All while Sarah was away.

"Walker?"

Sarah turned to see Casey smirking back at her.

"I'm not going to have to hose you down, am I Walker?"

"Oh shut up, Casey."

After he'd said goodbye to Emily, Chuck turned to see her father approaching him.

"I just want to thank you for saving my daughter's life," Marston said, shaking Chuck's hand.

"Well, it was uh, yeah sure." Chuck still wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten through the morning, and reality hadn't exactly sunk in yet.

"I'd offer you and your wife a free stay here any time, but I won't be here much longer myself."

"Oh?"

"Well, I've had an offer for the place, and I think it's time to move on."

"No kidding. From who?"

Marston pointed at Mr. Agasa, who was walking with Kurisuti around the hotel grounds. "They contacted me a few months ago, and made an offer. I wasn't sure at the time, but they convinced me to at least meet them here. I was a bit worried that everything that happened here would make him change his mind about the deal, but he just seems even more enthusiastic now. I think he might want to turn it into a murder mystery themed place now." Marston shuddered.

"I'll be glad to get away from the place, though. Three generations of this family being stuck here is enough. Emily and I are going to finally get to travel this summer. I haven't told her yet, so don't ruin the surprise."

"I'm pretty good with keeping secrets." Chuck felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Sarah smiling at him. She nodded at Marston, who nodded back.

"So," Marston said to the two of them, "the best I can offer you is an extra couple of days here, on me."

Chuck turned to look at Sarah. They hadn't had their extra night at the house in the suburbs, so maybe this was their opportunity to make up for it. He looked around at the hotel and the beach, then turned back to Sarah. They looked at each other questioningly.

"Nah!" they both said at the same time.

* * *

"Can you believe this?" Ellie asked, sliding the newspaper onto the kitchen table.

Chuck glanced at the headline. _'QB Rogers Killed after Apprehending Murderer.'_

"Ha! I always said he was awesome!" Devon exclaimed, pointing at the paper. "Did I ever tell you about how he beat Arizona with that last second touchdown?" Chuck strategically put the cereal box in front of his face so his future brother-in-law wouldn't see his eyes rolling. He hated to admit it sometimes, but he had missed these moments, and had been excited when he had returned home the prior evening.

"Yeah, yeah," his fiancée responded. "It was awesome, I know." She looked back down at the paper. "Look at these pictures of that hotel! What a beautiful place." She gave her brother a meaningful glance. "This is the type of place you're _supposed_ to take your girlfriend on vacation."

"To a crime scene?"

Ellie sighed. "You're hopeless. C'mon Devon, we're going to be late for rounds." The two doctors got up, and were putting away the breakfast dishes when there was a knock on the door.

"Hey guys," Sarah said, after Devon had opened the door.

"Welcome back, Sarah. You have fun on vacation?"

"I did."

"Well, next time make sure Chuck takes you to a nicer place than Reno," Ellie said, looking back at her brother as she and Devon headed out the door.

"Oh, any vacation with Chuck is going to be fun, no matter where it is."

Chuck winced slightly at the amused-sounding "Awesome" that came from the courtyard.

Sarah sat down at the table, and looked at the newspaper. "So you're not disappointed?"

"About not getting credit?" Chuck thought about it for a moment. "Not really. I'm kind of getting used to all our hard work going unnoticed. But Rogers catching the murderer before getting shot? That's a bit hard to believe."

Sarah shrugged. "It kept the reporters happy. Blore had some trouble convincing the other guests to go along with it, but otherwise I think everything went pretty smoothly."

"As long as Emily doesn't start a blog, we should be fine."

Emily smiled, and put a hand on his arm. "Chuck, even if nobody else knows, I _am_ really proud of you. You were amazing back on that island."

Chuck looked down, blushing.

"But," Sarah emphasized that word. "Don't you dare think that this means you don't need me around to protect you any more."

"Trust me," Chuck replied. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Sarah smiled. "Ok, as long as we're in agreement. Now, I'm afraid we've got to go to the Castle. Beckman's asked for a meeting."

"Oh." Chuck's face turned white as he remembered his last conversation with her. "I might need that protection sooner rather than later."

"She's still a bit unhappy with you, Chuck." Sarah studied his face for a moment as they got up from the kitchen table. "I know how you fought with her over me, and I do appreciate it. I just wish you wouldn't feel the need to protect _me_ all the time. That's my job, not yours. I don't suppose you could stop doing that if I ask you."

"Probably not." Chuck responded, as held the front door open for her.

"Ok." Sarah sighed, before turning back to Chuck. "Can I at least ask you to do one thing for me then?"

"Um, sure."

"Tell me about how Emily yelled at Casey again."

**End**

A/N:

_Well, there it is. I hope everybody has enjoyed this one, because I enjoyed writing it. I set out to do an "homage" to Agatha Christie (complete with a few references – see the names of all the secondary characters), revisit some of the story lines from the last season (especially the whole Mauser thing, which seemed to get dismissed quickly on the show), and write a mystery that actually makes some sense in the end. I'm not sure I accomplished all of this, and it probably came close to toppling under its own weight a few times. Heck, even my disclaimers had plot holes._

_For those of you who were hoping for a little more Charah, well I figured I would write the story as a "lost" episode, so I couldn't change the direction that the future episodes would go. In other words, no "getting it on" this time. I apologize for anybody that started out looking for this (I guess the name "Island Getaway" does suggest that possibility)._

_For those of you looking forward to the promised Casey "B-side" story, I'll get to it. Eventually. I've got a couple of other things in the works, and I still don't have a concept for the Casey story. Something will come to me eventually._

_For those of you who wrote such kind words in the reviews section, thank you very much. The feedback is always greatly appreciated, and really spurs me on. Except for those of you who wrote that Emily was probably the murderer. You all should just be ashamed of yourselves. She's 11 for God sakes! _


End file.
